


The Four Laws of Thermodynamics

by Selmak



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selmak/pseuds/Selmak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four laws of thermodynamics define fundamental physical quantities (temperature, energy, and entropy) that characterize thermodynamic systems. The laws describe how these quantities behave under various circumstances, and forbid certain phenomena. </p><p>In layman's terms,  Janet Fraiser nearly causes an intergalatic incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zeroth Law of Thermodynamics

_**Zeroth law of thermodynamics**_ : If two systems are in thermal equilibrium independently with a third system, they must be in thermal equilibrium with each other. This law helps define the notion of temperature.

* * *

Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov, Colonel of the Russian Air Force, was not a happy camper.  Thirteen hours stuck in transit to Colorado Springs would do that to any brave soul. Then the Fates  not happy with his suffering, had decided to make him suffer still more. It had been another one of THOSE days in the good old USA. Another pissing match between himself and O’Neill, one more long drawn out meeting with Richard Woolsey where he fought for his country’s rights. He had a headache as though a Vodianoi had risen from the depths and had struggled to drown him. Meanwhile, his stomach was roiling in his gut, full of bitter acid from far too many cups of undrinkable coffee. Probably it was a good thing he hadn’t eaten anything in the last day, not the way his belly was feeling.

One would think that a nation that prided itself on its capitalism entrepreneurship would know how to brew a proper cup of coffee.  While he preferred Russian tea himself, at times like this, Mikhail drank whatever beverage was required to keep him upright including the sludge they used to pave the roads.  God knew that the crimes the Yanks committed against coffee were nothing compared to what they inflicted to tea. He should present Hammond with a samovar so his Russian teams could have decent tea.

Yes, **_his_** teams, **_Chekov’s_** teams. While they reported to Hammond, still Mikhail insisted on overseeing them.  While he was sure their team leaders could handle the minor day to day problems, Mikhail had long accepted that his role was to be the Russian Bear. Big, brutal and angry, but if it meant his people were treated well, then so be it.

Time to visit the infirmary, beg a pain pill.  Then to dinner.  Yet first, he really needed to talk to his fellow countrymen, to determine how the new member of SG4 was fitting in. However, his meeting with Hammond and Woolsey had run late, and a quick check of his watch proved it highly unlikely that he’d catch them anytime soon.

* * *

Janet Fraiser was not having a good day. She had already patched up four SG units, dealt with O’Neil and  …   ** _Someone_** had found her secret stash of coffee.  And… the miscreant had absconded with it.  She’d sniff Daniel Jackson later, to see if he smelled of Arabica.  And if he did, so help him God.

Besides Janet dealing with caffeine crooks, her problem children in SG12 had decided to take a collective header off the ramp. Not to be outdone, most of sg19 had been trampled by something large and furry and… brown. Colonel O’Neill, being quite the wit, had convinced the commander of SG19 to christen the large, furry mammal Snuffy Snuffleupagus.  After Hammond had read that report, he required a visit to the infirmary for something to settle his stomach. He had been there for all of two minutes before disappearing back into his office. Hammond had been last been heard muttering about retirement, and **_Snuffleupaguses_** and how the hell was he supposed to convince the government to continue to support their mission when they were facing Sesame Street characters?

Cassie was having dinner with one of her friends. Fortunately, as SG14 was coming in hot and Janet had no idea when she’d leave the mountain.

If she ever got out of the infirmary. But she better get out of the mountain tonight. She had promised Cassandra that she’d find time to help her daughter with her Advanced Placement European Literature homework.  The report wasn’t due until next week but Cassandra wasn’t having much luck with the subject matter and neither was Janet.  The less mentioned about the government class the better. Janet's political beliefs were personal, as she was a firm believer in that politics was a subject much like sex and religion. Best left unmentioned in mixed company especially around males with guns. 

Cassie was an overachiever, as she was taking Advanced Placement Physics also, which was causing her no end of grief.  Samantha had offered to tutor her, but she was often away, and the midterm was looming

There was a large crash as someone or someones had bounced off each other. Great more wounded. There was a spat of guttural language and a quick apology in English to Colonel Chekov. Really, did the Colonel not expect anyone to understand his caustic comment about big footed Americans not watching where they were going?

The nurses were all giving her big, puppy dog eyes, quietly pleading that she, as the Chief Medical Officer, deal with the Russian bear.

He was glowering. Which was to be expected. Chekov had three emotions, yelling, glowering or if you hit the jackpot, you got yelling, glowering, finger  pointing. Chekov.

“Is there a problem, Colonel?” Janet had been told her Russian was passable, and so she decided to teach the bear some manners. But politely, with a rolled up newspaper, as Janet really preferred that the Colonel Grouchy Bear didn’t rip her head off and hand it to her. “There are injured people coming in.”

“Are they my people? They just left,” he questioned. In Russian, as though he expected her to understand him. It took her a bit to comprehend him, as his accent was impeccable; as well, Colonel Grouchy Bear, Colonel… what was the Russian word for bear?

 _Medvedev_ …   Yes, that was the word.

Colonel Medvedev … he was a native.  Plus, he used vocabulary that she wasn’t familiar with because she had only learned Russian to fill her time while stationed on an Air Force base hours from local civilization.  Her time had been spent biting her tongue on useful phrases such as “Where is the bathroom?” not medical terminology.

“Nyet,” she finally managed to say while Colonel Grouchy Bear not so patiently waited for her to respond.   Maybe she shouldn’t call him Medvedev … because bears were big, lumbering creatures that weren’t particularly bright. If Chekov was cranially challenged, he wouldn’t be at SGC. No, he was there because he was a political beast, crafty and sly, which meant his glowering, grouch routine was an act.

“Your accent is fair,” he told her in his heavily accented English. _Approvingly_ , as though the thought that they needed people to translate his English at times, had never crossed his mind. “But you need to put more _grrr_ into it.  You should sound like you’re cursing.” He then repeated what she had said to him, putting a great deal of grizzly grrr into it.

“Thank you for the advice,” she murmured.

“Any time,” he assured her, deliberately failing to note her irony. Then in Russian, “Do you have anything for a headache, Doctor?”

He was in luck as she always carried at least two of her favorite tiny miracles, Tylenols Extra Strength, in her pocket. Janet handed them to him, and promised that she’d get him a glass of water.

Instead of waiting, he popped them into his mouth and began chewing them. Then Chekov swallowed even while Janet’s inners screamed a futile protest.

“You’re going to ruin your esophagus,” she growled. “You can’t swallow pills without any water. You’ll tear a hole in your esophagus and bleed out.”

He repeated what she said in Russian, and then waited for her. Expectantly.

Good Lord, he was giving her Russian lessons? Like she had _time_?  Like she’d ever need to know the proper Russian term for esophagus?  She spat it back at him and he shook his head.

“Like a _bear_ , not a little kitten,” Chekov chastised. “ _Again_.”

He growled like the proverbial Russian bear, but his brown eyes… they were amused.

“If you have time to try to improve my Russian, I think you can _leave_.”

“Dasvidania,” he stated, with a quick, abrupt nod of his head.

“Yeah, yeah, see you later, alligator,” she snapped as she had wounded personnel to patch up.  She saw a stretcher being wheeled in, and her heart skipped a beat or three in terror.  Then she relaxed; what she had first mistaken to be copious amounts of fresh blood, was in fact, bright red fur that reminded her a muppet or three. “Don’t tell me, _Elmo_? Or was it _Animal_?”

* * *

 

Janet Fraiser picked up Cassandra from her friend’s house at the proper time. It was fortunate that Cassandra’s best friend had parents who were in the military, so they understood that sometimes Janet would be late due to an emergency at the base.

“What did you have for dinner?” she asked Cassandra the minute they pulled away from the curb, as Cassandra’s taste buds were finicky.

“They had pizza,” Cassandra admitted. “I had a slice to be polite.”

“So, Chinese then?” Janet asked, even as she maneuvered the car into the turning lane to their favorite Chinese restaurant.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Cassandra giggled. “Besides, I’m sure you didn’t eat.”

“No. Busy day,” Janet admitted. “The teams were attacked by Muppets. Plus there was a Grizzly Bear in the mountain today. All he did was growl, I have such a headache.”

Thanks to O’Neill’s ‘helpful influence’, originally mediated by Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson, and then finally reined in by Grandpa George, the alien Cassandra had quickly come up to speed on American Culture. The good, the bad, the not suitable for primetime. “They were attacked by _Kermit_?”

“Worse than that, _Elmo_.” Janet deadpanned which earned her a happy laugh from Cassandra.

* * *

 

“What do you say? The usual?” Janet asked Cassandra as they peered over the very familiar menu. “Kung Poa Chicken?”

“Ramp up the spice,” Cassandra reminded her. “I like it spicy, reminds me of home.”

“Actually, if you want spicy, ask for _Ma po tofu_ ,” stated a male voice. Russian. Oh _great_ , the Bear had found them. “Good afternoon, Dr. Fraiser.”

Janet Fraiser struggled not to grimace, so she focused instead on presenting a pleasant façade. “Cassie, this is Colonel Chekov. He is the Russian attaché that works with General Hammond.”

Cassie smiled and warmly greeted the Colonel. He returned the greeting and then asked her about various Chinese dishes and her preferences. The culinary inquisition completed, he turned to the counter man where he began chattering in high speed Mandarin.  The counterman spoke in turn, then nodded his head in agreement. Their dialogue concluded, Chekov turned back to Cassie.

“Pick a table, and they’ll bring everything over when it’s ready,” he suggested.

“It’s a school night,” Janet protested. “Cassie has homework, so we should be getting home. Cassie, you have physics, right?  We have to get ours to go, as she needs to focus on that.”

Really, she was grasping at straws even as Cassie loudly protested as she desired nothing more than an escape from her Physics homework.

Alas, an easy escape was not to be had, as fickle fate had other plans.

“You need help with your physics? I can help,” Chekov offered. “Do you have your books? It will take them a while to cook what I ordered. I have a background in physics.”

That’s how an unwilling Janet Fraiser found herself sitting in the Chinese Dragon, having dinner with Colonel Chekov, while he began detailing the concepts of conductors, capacitors and dielectrics to Cassie. After several cups of tea and a scallion pancake or three, combined with having the world’s smallest bladder, she had to make her escape as nature was a calling.  Plus the main course was delayed, even though the other tables had been served and CLEARED. Where the hell were they getting the dinner from? Beijing?

“I don’t think your mother is happy,” Chekov admitted to Cassie. “I’ll ask them to make your food so you can take it home. I come here frequently and they make _real_ Chinese once they realized I spoke Mandarin and Cantonese. It’s much better than what they serve the others.”

“Actually, I want to stay,” Cassie admitted. “You are explaining this in such a way that I can understand it. It’s almost logical the way you explain it. I hadn’t understood the concept of dielectrics until now.”

“Of course it makes sense. It’s nature. Nature is logical, we just don’t understand her rules. However, your mother wishes to go, so I’m afraid our class must end for the evening. We can make arrangements to meet again tomorrow if it is convenient.” The Russian colonel looked for the waiter, but Cassie stopped him.

“Mom had a bad day at work and she has a headache. There was a bear that roared and growled,” was Cassie’s guileless answer.

Cassie gestured her confusion when Chekov barked a laugh.

“Really? I did not growl at your mother. I am always on my best behavior with your mother as she is …” The Russian stopped, pondered for a bit and then softly continued, “She treats my people as though they were Hammond’s people. It is very rare, and much appreciated by them and by myself.”

“Colonel,” Cassie protested. “I know Sam….”

The Russian held out his hand in silent protest, “You know them one way. I know them as another. Understand that there were many decades of hostility between our two countries.  Some can overlook it and work towards a new tomorrow, while others…nurse old wounds.”

There was a clattering of wheels as the waiters rolled in a large collection of pots. They began to arrange them around the table and Chekov nodded his head in approval as he reviewed the various items. “The Chongqing hot pot is arriving and your mother has not returned. Perhaps you can share some with me before you depart. However, this is a chance to improve your understanding of physics.  Explain to me how the hot pot demonstrates the four laws of thermal dynamics.”

“Colonel,” protested Cassie.

“ _Michael_ ,” Chekov retorted. “You are not in the military, Cassandra. Do not call me Colonel. Call me Michael.”

“Michael Chekov?” Cassie questioned in disbelief.

“It’s actually Mikhail, but Michael is close enough,” Chekov explained.  “I’m in America, after all.”

“Mikhail?” Cassie tried out the name, and the Russian nodded his head in approval of her pronunciation.    
  
“For formal occasions,” he explained. “For less formal occasions, among friends, I am Misha.”

And Cassandra Fraiser, the lone survivor of a world known as Hanka, felt sympathy for Chekov. She wondered if the foreigner in a strange land, so much like herself in some ways, and yet not, had anyone who cared enough to call him _Misha_.

Cassandra smiled, and held out her hand, “And I’m Cassie, Misha.”

He shook it and then pounced, “Now, Cassie, the four laws of thermal dynamics as demonstrated by the hot pot.”

* * *

 

Naturally, Janet was delayed so by the time she came back to the table, dinner had been served and Cassie was blushing. The Russian Bear was quietly applauding as Cassie had answered his questions correctly.

“What did I miss?” Janet asked even as Chekov paid the bill.  “No, no, no. I’m paying for dinner as you helped Cassie with her homework.”

Chekov protested and then laughingly added, “No, Dr. Fraiser, I insist that you permit the grouchy bear pay for your dinner.”

“No, Misha! You promised you wouldn’t tell her what I said,” protested Cassie.

For a moment, Janet felt that she had been sucked up by the wormhole and then deposited on another planet. **_Misha_**?

“Misha?” Janet asked. “You’re calling him _Misha_?”

“I asked her to call me Michael,” Chekov explained. “If I’m tutoring her in Physics for her midterm,  suggested that she could call me Michael.”

 ** _What_**? Janet mouthed.

“But that’s too American,” protested Cassie. “Mikhail is too formal, so he’s _Misha_.”

 ** _Misha_**? Janet mouthed as really, she was four steps behind everyone in this conversation.

“Now, tonight redo your first three quizzes and give them to your mother. I will review and revise them tomorrow so we can discuss them tomorrow at our tutoring session. Now, eat, before it gets cold,” Chekov requested as he expertly began to utilize his chopsticks.

“Before the entropy of the system reaches a constant value,” Cassie corrected as she grabbed her chopsticks.

 


	2. 2

"pisicuţă"- little cat, can be used mockingly, mostly on girls (pisoi, pisoiul meu - male equivalent)

* * *

 

Janet Fraiser left her house, stopped in midstride, backtracked to the kitchen, picked up the manila folder that she had almost forgotten and headed back to her car. Her normally relaxing commute was anything but, as she recalled her conversation with Cassie from the previous night.

_“It was really nice of Misha to help me with my homework,” Cassie said as they left the restaurant._

_“Yes, it was quite nice of the Colonel to help you,” Janet agreed. She paused and Cassie picked up on everything that she wasn’t saying._

_“He is very nice,” Cassie agreed, even as she attempted to switch the radio station to the station she preferred. “He thinks very highly of you.”_

_“Chekov?” Janet asked just to confirm that the Glowering, Bellowing, Finger Pointing Whirling Dervish known as Colonel Chekov was in fact the same person that Cassie had just mentioned. And yes, she put the radio back on her favorite station.  Driving had its privileges, after all._

_“He said that you treat his people like they were Hammond’s people. I know when I first started school, I was the strange girl from Canada. People treated me odd.”_

_Janet remembered all too well that awkward transition. It had taken plenty of patience, plus some help from Dr. McKenzie, but Cassie was now fully integrated into her new home._

_“I thought school had gotten better,” prompted Janet._

_“It has, especially now that physics is finally making sense.”_

Well damn it to hell, Chekov didn’t have to make it sound as though the Russian team were outcasts. They were part of the mountain, accepted as part of the team.

Except that they weren’t. Not really, Janet noticed when she began watching the interactions between the various personnel.  By the time she had her midmorning coffee break, she had noticed the patterns. There was the usual enlisted / commissioned officer divide with the senior NCOs ignoring them all, but the American and Russians… definitely some tension.   She decided that it was something that she herself needed to work on, so she deliberately joined SG4 for lunch at their table.  Her impromptu arrival at their table surprised them, but by the end of the lunch they were chatting easily.  

The afternoon found Chekov in her office peering at Cassandra’s homework and quizzes.   He rubbed his eyes and then his growly bear face brightened when she put a cup of hot tea in front of him.  

“Dare I hope that is for me?” was his hopeful question.

“It’s the least I could do for you since you’re reviewing Cassie’s schoolwork. What do you think?” She sat down opposite from himself and prepared for the bad news.

“I’m rather impressed. In this one quiz, she broke at least four basic rules of physics and created a few new ones. This teacher of hers is inept as she fails to notice the increasing acceleration of Cassie’s despair.” He admitted before he gingerly sipped at the tea.  He took a bigger sip and then beamed. “This is… good.”

“You don’t need to be so surprised,” Janet snipped.

“I’ve drunk enough of the coffee here to be surprised that anything is drinkable,” retorted Chekov.  “Less said about the food the better it is for all.”

“It’s not too late for her to drop the course,” Janet prompted. “Should she?”

“I think if I can get her grounded in the basics, she can build on it. The test is next Monday?”

“Yes,” Janet confirmed.

“That’s three nights plus the weekend. Five nights? It’s doable. She picked up quickly last night. Perhaps I may give her Sunday night off,” he decided before he began writing out the correct answers to the quizzes.  “Perhaps not, she will have to earn it by not breaking the laws of Physics with wild abandonment. The time the base shakes, I will know that it is because Cassie has broken another universal constant.”

“Colonel Chekov, I appreciate your willingness to help Cassie, but I can’t expect you to give up every night for this while you’re here.”

He looked up from the paperwork, and he quirked a lopsided grin. “I need a reprieve. While I’m here, I have the SGC and my quarters. Sometimes, I escape for a meal because too much O’Neill and my head will pop.”

He gestured a miniature explosion and Janet laughed.

“You look surprised. I am very funny. Here, I must be very serious, very loud.  To protect my country’s interests, I must point finger a great deal, wave hands so Hammond can hear me above O’Neill’s plaintive whines. Now if you don’t mind, I must attempt to decipher whatever this is before I am required to start finger pointing and yelling in…” Chekov checked his watch which was on his right wrist, and continued, “Twenty-seven minutes.  Put money on it with Siler and you will win.”

Janet leaned back in her chair, unexpectedly uneasy that Chekov knew about the Bellowing Berserker Betting Pool from which O’Neill was excluded, for obvious reasons.

“Ah, you are surprised that not only the Bear dances, but he dances quite well. Twenty six minutes, Doctor.”

With that, Chekov returned back to Cassie’s homework leaving Janet Fraiser confused yet intrigued.

* * *

 

Chekov arrived promptly at her doorstep at seven.  He was in civvies. In one hand was a bag emblazoned with a bookstore’s name and in his other, there was a box of pastries from a new, high end bakery that had just been mentioned in **_The Gazette_** earlier that week.

“Colonel,” Janet protested. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

The colonel shook his head in protest.

“When visiting, it is considered polite to bring something,” Chekov explained.  “Also for this, can you not call me Colonel?”

“I’m not calling you **_Misha_** ,” protested Janet.

“Technically, that’s too familiar, so normally you would call me Mikhail Kirillovich. However, that is a mouthful for you Americans, so Michael is sufficient. Now, where is my pupil?” He asked.

“Finishing up her European History homework.  She can’t spend all her time on physics… Michael,” Janet paused before adding his name to sentence.

“If you’re having such problems with Michael, it is good that I did not insist on Mikhail Kirillovich.”

There was no doubt in Janet’s mind, Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov was a smart ass.

* * *

 

Janet kept a watchful eye on teacher and student, not because she thought there would be any impropriety, but because she was still struggling to figure out Chekov. What type of individual **_volunteered_** to teach a high schooler college physics? Sam had volunteered also, but she was Cassie’s second mother in all ways but legal, but why Chekov? Hammond had once confessed to her that he couldn’t get a real read on the Russian because the Colonel Chekov façade remained intact at all times.

_“I don’t know what his game is. What he really wants,” George Hammond tiredly admitted after a long meeting with Chekov. “I’m quite good at evaluating people, else O’Neill would have been court-martialed at least twice by now. I can’t get a fix on the Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov the man. Colonel Chekov the dutiful Russian Soldier, yes. Not the man.”_

Chekov, no… **_MICHAEL_** …, she reminded herself, had purchased two review books and he taught from that.  He was calm and composed, but horribly dry in his humor and a giggling Cassie seemed to do well with his teaching style. After an hour or so, he reviewed her homework for that evening, told her to revise it as she could better now and informed that was the end of the physics lesson.

That done, it was time for Janet to hand out the pastries and join the conversation. Michael kept the conversation light but excused himself after he had finished his tea.  “I must return. I’m sure that they are very nervous that I am out and about, unsupervised.”

“Michael,” protested Janet.

“You’re getting better at not choking when you’re using my American name. There is hope that one day you can use my true name,” he dryly stated.  “However, alas, I must return to now being Colonel Chekov.  Do you wish to continue with this, Cassie?”

“ ** _Yes_** , I actually may pass because of you,” Cassie happily interjected.

Chekov pointed his finger at Cassie, with a sly wink at Janet for using his pointer finger. “You will pass or fail because of yourself. I will only provide you with tools. Same time tomorrow night?”

Cassie waited for Janet to confirm and then agreed.

“Wonderful, I will see you then.”

* * *

 

On Saturday afternoon, Sam Carter popped into Janet’s office.  “Hi, I’m back,” she needlessly explained as she was four days overdue. “The Tok’Ra took longer than I anticipated.  Once I take a very long shower, I can stop by tonight and help Cassie with her homework? For a supposedly advanced race, their showers and their food aren’t the best.”

“Surprise, she already has a physics tutor, and you’re never ever guess who it is,” Janet admitted. “Let’s go outside for a smoke, shall we?”

‘Going for outside for a smoke’ was their slang for meeting in the cafeteria for a quick chat.

“Sounds like I missed a lot,” Sam stated as she followed Janet to the cafeteria.

“You have no idea,” was Janet’s wry response.

* * *

 

“Chekov?” Sam repeated in disbelief once she heard who Cassie’s tutor was.  “Colonel Chekov? The Russian Colonel Chekov?”

Janet nodded her head before she added, “He’s the only Chekov I know.”

“How’s it going?” was Sam’s next question.  “He’s a bit brusque at times.”

Sam’s grin said it all, and Janet nodded her head.

“Amazingly well. Very calm, very patient with Cassie. He presents the material for her so she can understand it.  I’ve offered to pay him for his time, he got all Chekovy on me.”

“Chekovy?” Sam asked.

Janet took a very deep breathe, inhaled and exhaled, and then pointed her finger at Sam.  “Cassandra is in dire need of assistance and therefore I will provide it. Let us not speak of remuneration as I will not accept it.”

“That’s a very good Chekov,” Sam admitted.  “Got to work on the fierce eyebrows though.”

Janet quietly laughed before she smoothed down her eyebrows.

“It’s a very good Colonel Chekov.  The other Chekov is quieter with a very dry sense of humor. He’s a bit of a smart ass, actually.”

Sam nearly spit out her coffee.

“No,” she protested.  “He is…always so serious when he’s here.”

“We’re talking O’Neill level of SmartAssedry,” confessed Janet. “There’s times when I believe that he might even exceed our Good Colonel.”

“I’m really sorry that I couldn’t help her more with her physics.”

“That’s ok, I know exactly how you can make it up to me,” Janet offered. At Sam’s confused look, Janet sweetly explained, “You’ll teach her how to drive.”

“Can I do something less painful, perhaps donate a kidney?”

* * *

 

On Monday afternoon, a very nervous Cassandra took a long deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. Three times, as per Misha’s instructions.  Then she opened her test booklet and began to read the exam question, marking the questions as Misha had instructed her. 

These questions were easy, especially compared to the most recent batch of questions that Chekov had her complete. Those had been scary, but this… this midterm was **_easy_**.  She would have to send him an email and let him know how much he had helped her with the class. He was scheduled to leave for Russia today, so she doubted that her sincere thanks would reach him before he was at the airport.

_“Take a few deep breaths and do the best you can. That’s all you can do,” Chekov had assured her. “Don’t try for a perfect grade because you don’t need that pressure.  Permit yourself two… three points off.”_

_He had broadly grinned after he had stated that.  Cassie liked him because his personality, his humor… they reminded her of what once was home… Hanka._

* * *

 

Janet Fraiser left her staff meeting and returned to her office. Her voice mail light was lit so she played back the message.  It was Cassie’s physics teacher and Janet listened to the message, not one, not twice but **_three_** times to confirm that she understood the issue.  By the last time, her disbelief had crescendoed into a righteous rage.  

Cassie had **_ACED_** her midterm, which had caused the teacher to suspect that she had cheated. Combining the difficulties was that Cassie had claimed that the teacher couldn’t contact her tutor for verification as he was a Russian Air Force Colonel?

_“We don’t condone cheating, Dr. Fraiser, and to compound it by lying?”_

She returned the phone call, got sent to the teacher’s voice mail and left a very brusque comment. By the time Janet, an enraged Mama Bear, had reached her car, she had acquired an entourage consisting of the very concerned SG1 team.

* * *

 

Janet Frasier (and her entourage) were met at the office by Cassie’s literature teacher. When he saw her, the former active duty Marine exhaled loudly. “Oh thank God, you’re here. If you could come with me? We’ve got an international incident brewing. Cassie managed to contact her tutor, and the Russian bear arrived in full uniform.  He’s rather…intense.”

“Yes, I know how he is,” Janet admitted as she followed Mike Baldwin to the conference room.    

“I got pulled in as he was speaking Russian.  The principal wanted a translation. After a few minutes, I told him…I couldn’t understand his dialect, claimed it was Northern Russian. Truth of the matter is, your friend has a very saucy mouth on him. I thought it best not to translate.”

The three stooges of SG1- that being Jack O’Neill, Daniel Jackson and Teal’c all mouthed, ‘ ** _Friend_**?’

“He’s Cassie’s physics tutor and he seems fond of her,” was Janet’s explanation. “I’m surprised he’s here as I thought he was leaving for home.”

 

* * *

 

It had been an act of desperation to call Misha.  At most, Cassie had hoped that he would be able to talk to her teacher, confirm that he existed and that he had been tutoring her. Just **_please_** get the cheating allegation resolved before they notified Janet. When he had been unable to reach her teacher, Misha had left the airport and had arrived at her school.

If she wasn’t so upset about the situation, it would have been almost funny to see the reaction of stunned disbelief to Chekov, her supposedly fictitious Russian Air Force Colonel. The Colonel had arrived, in **_uniform_** , and he had made a beeline for her.

“So, pisicuţă, you’ve done too well on your exam. I am proud, very proud of all your hard work. Do not worry, I will resolve this so they will understand that you did not cheat. I warn you, that I will do a great deal of yelling. I am very good at yelling,” a somber Misha assured her.

“You missed your plane,” Cassie protested. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. There’s always another. Now, I must go forth and do battle.” Chekov flashed her a crooked grin and then entered the conference room.

She sat outside the conference room and waited. God, she want nothing more than to go home …  or cry.

When her Mom arrived and embraced her, Cassie did cry.


	3. 3

“I know you didn’t cheat, honey,” Janet assured her daughter. “You put so much effort into studying that you didn’t need to cheat.”

While Janet wished for nothing more than to rip open the door and start attacking, her daughter needed her. She hugged Cassie until her tears had stopped. Then the door opened to the conference room and the principal exited. His countenance was one of a joyful man given an unexpected reprieve until he saw THEM. He flinched when he saw the military fatigues.

“Dr. Fraiser, please tell me that there’s not a tank in the front parking lot,” he requested. “Or a Navy carrier in the swimming pool. One Russian colonel was enough. My ears are still ringing, and I have a pretty good idea what he was saying in the allegedly Northern Russian dialect.”

“I can easily get both here with one simple phone call,” Mamma Bear Fraiser growled. “Don’t make me bring in the Marines. They’re dying for an excuse to practice their rappelling.”

Since the principal lacked the proper security clearance, she couldn’t threaten him with the Tok’Ra. But Jake Carter owed her a few so he was her Alien up her Sleeve.

“You don’t have to bring in the Marines. Everything’s been resolved. Your daughter will receive a ninety eight on her exam, and even the slightest thoughts of cheating have been put to rest.  Her total is ninety eight because she didn’t show all her work on the one question. While Colonel Chekov was kind enough to demonstrate the shortcut he taught her, it’s not part of our curriculum.”

The principal exhaled, and then added, “Though we’re thinking of adding it. Do you want to come into the conference room? By that I mean, you, Cassandra and **_one_** of your team. We can talk about this, explain why we were concerned about what happened and I hope that she will accept our apology that we were wrong. It was a substantial improvement in her grades, the non-sanctioned short cut, plus the fact that her tutor was a Russian Air Force colonel. Since the good Colonel is left handed, his demonstration of the shortcut clarified why one of her symbols didn’t look familiar.”

The principal’s smile was pained.

“Well, first we need to thank Colonel Chekov for his assistance, then we’ll chat,” Janet offered.

“I’m afraid that he’s already left.  He had to catch his plane,” the principal admitted.

Janet nodded her head.

* * *

 

A few weeks later, Janet realized that the Russian Bear was back at the mountain as there was a noticeable egress of personnel from the lower levels of the base, especially from Med Bay. She found him sitting in her office, obviously anticipating her arrival.

“Doctor Fraiser!” His greeting was upbeat and cheerful. “I understand that I need to thank you as it appears Lt. Kravchenko is once again hale and hearty, as you Americans would say.”

“You’re picking up Americanisms with astonishing ease,” Janet teased.

Chekov waived his hands and spat out some Russian. “When in Rome,” he helpfully translated.

“I don’t think that was the real translation,” protested Janet.  “I caught something about Tula and a samovar.”

She was rewarded with a smile that was distinctively unbearlike, and bordered on wolfish.

“Translation is ‘Nobody goes to Tula with one's own samovar’. Tulsa is renowned for having the best samovar, so why drag one with you?”  Chekov snapped his fingers and leaned back. “I need to find one for my people. There must be a samovar somewhere near Cheyenne Mountain.”

Janet Fraiser mentally filed away the term samovar and decided she’d investigate it later.

“Now, the real reason I am here. How is Cassandra and her physics?”  Chekov asked.

“Doing better, now that she has a firm understanding of the basics.”

“No unauthorized shortcuts?”

“None,” she admitted.

“Excellent.  Her teacher’s mind was small. Did not appreciate deviations from the standard mean.” Chekov barked a laugh,

“I never got a chance to thank you for intervening with her teacher,” Janet inserted.  “You left before I could thank you.”

Chekov stopped laughing and he nodded his head. “I needed to make that flight home. As it was, I barely made to Irishka’s funeral mass on time. I’m quite sure she understood why I was late, however the archpriest bestowed a most fearsome look upon me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” was Janet’s empathetic response.

In response, Chekov exhaled. Slowly. “It’s been five years since my wife died. Her passing no longer stings as badly as it once did.”

The Russian looked away from her, and Janet was grateful for the reprieve because Chekov was lying. Let him have his secrets, she decided. After a few minutes, the Colonel softly spoke, “Do you have more of those miracle pills? I am need of fortification before I speak with Hammond, as no doubt O’Neill will also be involved.”

“I’ll give them to you. Just promise me that you’ll take them with water. I don’t want you ripping your esophagus.”

 “Yes, I promise,” he quietly stated. “If you were angry with me, I would be most… saddened.”

Then his Russian humor flared, as he added, “For you are the only one that willingly talks to me here.”

His laugh was warm and he smiled. Broadly.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Bear left for Russia after his meeting with Hammond, without so much as a verbal goodbye to Janet. However, he had managed to sneak into her office, opened her drawer that held her secret stash of necessary supplies (chocolate, coffee) that she **_knew_** was locked, and he had left behind a dozen bars of Alyonka Chocolate along with an assortment of other European branded chocolates. She picked up the piece of chocolate, inspected the picture of the rosy-cheeked blue-eyed little girl in a colorful scarf and noticed that there was a folded piece of paper underneath her stash.

She opened the note. It was in Chekov’s distinctive left handed scrawl.

_Dr. Fraiser,_

_Small token for taking such good care of my people_. _As always,_ _I am indebted to you._

_Sincerest and warmest regards,_

_Mishka_

And at the bottom, there was a cartoon of a growling, claw pointing bear who wore the dress shirt of a Russian Air Force Colonel. Janet peered at the cartoon for a moment, before she realized that Chekov had actually drawn a rather fearsome looking **_teddy_** bear.

“You certainly know a way to a girl’s heart, tovarisch. Chocolate and teddy bears,” murmured Janet. “I hope this chocolate is better than the little Russian cuisine that I’ve endured. Not much of a beet girl, I’m afraid.”

Gingerly, she opened the candy bar and broke off a piece. She closed her eyes, and popped the piece into her mouth. So intent on savoring the experience, Janet Fraiser nearly choked when Sam asked her, “I’m afraid to ask what caused **_that_** expression on your face.”

“It’s just chocolate,” Janet admitted when she was able to speak once more. “Surprisingly decent chocolate.”

“I don’t recognize the wrapper,” prompted Sam.

“Colonel Chekov left me an assortment of European chocolate. I think he might have thrown in some Japanese chocolate also. I better ask our favorite translator to confirm what is in it. They look like chocolate covered wasabi peas.”

Sam Carter leaned towards Janet Fraiser, as intent as a scent hound on the track of prey, and Janet put back the remainder of her chocolate bar into her drawer and relocked it.  While Janet had planned on sharing part of her loot with Sam, well, that moment had passed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” protested Janet. “If you have something to say, just spit it out, Sam.”

“Colonel Chekov seems to be in your orbit recently,” Sam stated.

“Quite possibly as I’m apparently the only one here that actually talks to him,” was Janet’s retort. “O’Neill’s dislike is quite obvious, and the other teams have noticed it. It really doesn’t hurt to be polite to him. He’s in a foreign country, trying to take care of his nation’s interest, and he’s quite aware of the betting pool Siler has on him. He’s always been polite to me, and he did help Cassie with her physics.”

Sam held out her hands in the universal don’t shoot gesture. (Well, recent events has proven it was actually an Earth gesture, as Sg-12 had ended bonded into a group marriage after utilizing it on PX-1933B).

Janet nodded her head, accepting Sam’s unspoken apology. 

“Maybe we could be… less obvious,” admitted Samantha.

“I know the perfect way to start. I need to locate a samovar.”

* * *

 

Chekov arrived back at the Mountain in late December. From the moment he arrived to some forty eight hours later, he had managed to avert another international crisis from escalating into an intergalactic crisis, acquire some badly needed US Currency for the Motherland, and hadn’t a chance to change out of the clothes in which he arrived. Don’t even mention that he didn’t get a chance to shave, so hopefully he wouldn’t meet Dr. Fraiser looking like the proverbial shaggy Russian Bear.

However, he had been given a hearty handshake from General Hammond and an appreciative, “Good job, Colonel.”

Simple words from a man Chekov respected. It was enough.

By the time he made it to his VIP quarters, he was barely able to keep to his feet. Really, could he talk to someone about removing the blasted American Flag from his bedchambers?  Must he endure reoccurring nightmares involving John Wayne crossing the Delaware whenever he slept under the mountain?  He was so beyond exhausted that he was mixing up his idioms and his history.

After a proper nap, he’d have to review whatever he just agreed to – just to confirm that he hadn’t given away Siberia for some beaded necklaces. Not that Hammond would deliberately take advantage of Chekov’s exhaustion, but Hammond had to take care of his interests.  He was honest about it which Chekov respected.

It took Chekov some time for him to realize that there was a new addition to his quarters. There, on his desk was an antique samovar that had been converted to electricity. There was a container of tea leaves, _Keemun_ , no less, proper drinking glasses that matched the samovar and a note left on top of the container of sugar cubes.

The note was from Dr. Fraiser and he couldn’t help but smile when he read it.

_Mishka,_

_Enjoy the samovar which is now permanently assigned to your regular quarters. General Hammond has ensured that there will be one in the cafeteria for SG4._

_Janet_

For a wonder, he didn’t dream of John Wayne that night.

* * *

 

Janet Fraiser was in her office when she heard Chekov asking her staff if she was in her office.

“Colonel, I’m in my office,” she announced.  He stormed into her office, and Janet caught one of her staff members giving her a sympathetic look.  Then he closed the door behind them with a solid motion.

He took the chair opposite her desk and he quietly exhaled.

“They won’t talk because the door is closed, will they?” His voice was quite soft. Janet nodded her head, and he sighed. “Then I’ll open the door.”

“No, no. They’ll think you’re yelling at me. I’ll get lots of sympathy from them later on, which is good as I want to leave work a little early today. The holiday party is tonight and I’d like to wear something besides this.”

She pointed at her uniform.

The Russian Bear snorted a laugh. “Thank you for the samovar. It is a very old soul with a lovely voice. I had a wonderful cup of tea before I came here.”

“Soul?” Janet questioned.

“Yes, souls. I know it would surprise you, but we Russians, very poetic. Anyway, I must go, as no doubt your people are eavesdropping to hear what I saying.” Chekov stood and then nodded his head.

“You look tired,” Janet protested.

“I am,” he admitted. “Quite tired. I am not as young as your Colonel O’Neill.”

Definite snort then as O’Neill was two years older than Chekov.

“Will I see you at the party?” Janet asked.

Another bark of laughter combined with a pointed index finger that bobbed in time to his words. “They do not wish to have Colonel Chekov at the festivities as he is a grouchy, grouchy bear with very fierce eyebrows.  Chekov is a Colonel killjoy.”

For added benefit, he did something to his eyebrows so they looked particularly angry.

“Mishka, you’re not fooling me even with the scary eyebrows,” Janet softly protested. At her use of ‘Mishka’, Janet was rewarded with a very warm smile. “Get some sleep, I’ll look for you tonight.”

Again, a head bob and a warm smile.

“Your General Hammond insisted that I attend in the spirit of international cooperation. Therefore, I will be found in any corner opposite of your O’Neill.” He then stood and turned to the door. In a loud voice, he enunciated, “In the future, Dr. Fraiser, in the spirit of **_international cooperation_** , I would appreciate being notified whenever one of SG-4 is injured. I will review Lt. Beliova’s file later.”

There was a scuffle of noise as her staff realized that the Bear was About to Egress and Chekov bit his lip so not to laugh. He stormed out of her office, terrifying her staff and when they finally ventured into her office, they found her covering her face with her hands.

Janet Fraiser was struggling not to laugh, but her staff was so sympathetic after her supposed altercation with the Bear that they insisted she leave then and there.  She didn’t complain as it gave her time for a manicure and a pedicure.

* * *

 

“These Americans really know how to party,” snarked Colonel Dmitri Volkov, the lead of the Russian SG4. “I’m so delighted that you brought vodka for my team for the holidays, Misha. A few drinks after this may make these dreary memories bearable.”

“Dima,” Chekov softly warned his old friend as they stood in line for the open bar.   “We cannot insult our hosts who had provided us with this rather boring function. However, we can be good guests by assisting the overwhelmed bartender.”

Dima pursed his lips and then agreed that it was the proper thing to do.

“They are in dire need of assistance,” Dima agreed.

The two Russian colonels took off their suit jackets and rolled up their sleeves.

Looking back the next morning at the physical wreckage of his base personnel, George Hammond could safely say that this was the moment when the party went off the railroad tracks and began barreling down the mountainside.

* * *

 

“Jake?” George Hammond hissed.

“George?” was the immediate smartass response.

“Are the Russians acting as the bartenders?” George asked. “Including Colonel Chekov?’

The former Air Force General now Tok’Ra resistance freedom fighter watched the scene unfurl.  For a moment, a brief moment, Selmak began singing ‘Nearer My God to Thee’ as she thought of a large iceberg (made of frozen vodka) bearing down on the unsuspecting Cheyenne mountain.

**_“Near-er My God to Theeeeeeeee!”_ **

**_STOP IT, SELMAK_**!

The two Colonels were producing drinks at an astronomical rate, assisted by the remaining team members of SG4 and Jake tilted his head, “I hope you have enough designated drinkers for an entire base, George. Because the good colonels are not measuring how much vodka they’re putting in the drinks. In fact, I believe they’re doubling it.”

George Hammond exhaled, counted to ten, then downwards to zero, then back up to ten.

“He’s really vindictive. He’s getting even for our most recent negotiations,” George complained to the uncaring world. “He’s ensuring me a base full of hungover people tomorrow. Come on Jake, I need to close the bar.”

* * *

 

“And there…. A Ninotchka for the good Major,” Dima proudly announced as he presented the drink to Major Carter.

“That’s not what I ordered,” protested Sam who stared dubiously at the pale drink that was nicely garnished with a lemon slice.

“It’s what I can make,” Dima explained. “Take a sip, you’ll like it. Promise. It’s vodka, creme de cacao and a little bit of lemon.”

Carter took a hesitant sip and then she beamed. “This is **_really_** good.”

“Excellent. Don’t forget to tip the bartender,” Dima reminded her as he pointed to the real bartenders.

Meanwhile, Janet Fraiser was standing in front of Colonel Chekov.

“You are a man of many talents, Colonel,” she teased. “I’d like a Cosmo.”

“I just know a few drinks,” he demurred as Dima had in fact, been whispering the ingredients to him and then arbitrarily assigning the results Russian sounding names. “Don’t know that one. Can I offer you an Anouchka? A bit of vodka, some blackberry liqueur?”

He began pouring anyway, even as Janet shook her head. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you, Colonel?”

“I understand that is part of my lack of charm,” he admitted. “Why don’t I make you two as General Hammond is heading this way to shut down the bar? He looks almost Russian in his annoyance.”

Meanwhile, the SG4 Colonel was intently watching the interaction between Fraiser and Chekov, and he wore the slightest smile.

General Hammond stepped in front of the line and the look on his face was one of annoyed respect because his staff was pretty hammered thanks to the Colonels’ bartending.  “Colonels, it is far too kind of you to assist the bartenders.”

“Just another example of… _international cooperation_ ,” dryly offered Chekov.

And ZING! He got Hammond well and truly with that quip and Hammond acknowledged Chekov’s win in return.

“I’m not sure if that’s the words I would use to describe your assistance,” Hammond offered. He put his hands together and then smiled. “I want Colonel Chekov and SG4 to please enjoy the festivities, and I’m pretty sure that bartending won’t permit you to do so. Your time for bartending is at an end.”

The Russian Colonels grabbed four bottles of iced vodka and made their escape, much to the annoyance of the waiting personnel.

* * *

 

“Line your stomach?” Chekov asked his longtime friend.

“ ** _Naturally_** , however we will pace ourselves, unlike the Americans. They will be so feeling it tomorrow,” Dima answered as he began to pour the vodka. “So, Misha. Tell me the truth. You and the little doctor?”

Chekov said not a word so Dima prompted his friend.

“Your wife has been dead for five years and she will not haunt you if you decide to date again.  My understanding is that the doctor is not married, and she seems… fond of you. You **_are_** permitted to be human, Misha.”

“No, I’m **_not_**. Not with my position. Not **_here_** , not **_ever_** ,” Chekov reminded Dima.  He held out his glass and raised it. “Поехали!”  

_Let’s get started._

* * *

 

He had paced his drinks, ate appropriately to balance his alcoholic intake, taken a turn or two out on the dance floor with a terrified Lt. Beliova and then he decided it was time to leave. He was then accosted by Janet Fraiser, who insisted on a dance.

“I think you had enough to drink,” Chekov gently informed a tipsy Janet Fraiser. The diminutive doctor pouted and shook her head.  “Do you need a ride home?”

“Probably, I only…had two… of those drinks you suggested, plus the ones that Colonel Volkov brought me,” admitted Janet. “Besides, do I get a dance at least? You danced with Lt. Beliova twice. Let me kick off my heels as my feet are killing me.”

She removed her high heels and rubbed her feet.

“Better,” she gushed. “So much better.”

“I don’t think dancing with me would be a good idea,” was Chekov’s response. “Your coworkers will wonder, they will gossip. It will do your reputation no good.”

“Dancing with me would improve your reputation around the base,” was her lighting fast retort.  “Or else everyone will gain a new respect for me for taming the Mishka bear.”

With a determined expression on her face, she pulled at Chekov’s arm until he stood next to her on the dance floor.

“Arms around me, Airman,” Janet snapped.

They were a comical sight, he knew. Him, all burly and bearish, topping one hundred eighty centimeters dwarfing her delicate stature, and with her shorter by almost thirty centimeters.   Damn it, Dima was **_grinning_** , Hammond was speculating, and O’Neill appeared troubled. Or confused.  The Colonel had only two facial expressions, after all. The ‘I’m a Smart Ass and you can’t do a damn thing as Hammond agrees with me’ one and the ‘I don’t trust you as you’re a red Commie Bastard’ look.

It was a slow song.  **_Naturally_**.

 _Ever so lonely_  
Ever so lonely without you  
Ever so lonely

 _Sinking into your eyes_  
And all I see  
Love is an ocean and you for me….

He kept a respectful distance from her, but he couldn’t help but watch her eyes. Light brown eyes that sparkled and captured his attention. How he enjoyed making her smile and laugh, truly the only bright spot in this entire hellish assignment.

The song ended, but they continued to dance to another song.

Closer.

When the music stopped, he nodded his head and stepped away. “Thank you for the dances. I’m leaving now if you’d like me to drive you home.”

Janet nodded.

* * *

 

It was a very quiet drive home.  Janet was content to close her eyes, to pretend to doze as she was a bit tipsy. Plus she was debating the almost physical reaction she had when she was dancing with Mishka.  Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov was not her physical type. He was a big man, in stature, build and attitude; and a tad caustic and Janet had never been particularly kind to him. No, she had rolled her eyes and growled Chekovisms with the best of them.

 However, he had recognized that Cassie was in dire need of assistance and had offered to help. 

He had nearly missed his wife’s anniversary funeral mass to defend Cassie from the unfounded accusations of cheating.

And his rare smile.

Oh God, that **_smile_**. Rare as diamonds, crooked yet balanced by the amusement in his brown eyes.  If Chekov was American, she’d say that he was interested.

In.

**_Her._ **

But he was Russian. So… maybe not.

And yet, she should not dare forget his **_hands_**. Carefully placed just so when they danced.

But the way he had looked at her when they danced. 

Oh, yes, he **_was_** interested.

“We’re here,” Mishka informed her as he turned off the car.  

She was still struggling with car door after she had claimed her victory against her seat belt when he opened the door for her. He held out his hand and she grabbed it for support.  It wasn’t deliberate, but she did lose her balance and Chekov caught her before she did a face plant.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he offered. “I think you had a bit too much to drink.”

“You might be right,” Janet admitted.

* * *

 

They entered Janet’s house and Chekov wondered where Cassie was, as she wasn’t there to greet them.

“She’s at a friend’s house,” Janet explained as she gently pulled him down the hallway. Towards her bedroom, he realized.

“J-j-j-janet….” He sputtered as he refused to move one more step. One part of him wanted nothing more than to merrily race her to her bedroom, but the sane, rational part of him warned him of the consequences. 

Even with her Herculean effort, Janet Fraiser was unable to budge him. So instead, she turned to face him and she stood on her toes.  Still not at a sufficient height to do what she wanted, Janet pulled his face down towards hers.

Their brief kiss was… unexpected… and… sweet. He was woefully out of practice, so Janet was the bolder, the more audacious of the two of them. When they broke apart, she relaxed until she was once more flat footed on the floor.

“Mishka, you’re too tall to kiss easily,” she murmured. Janet then deliberately placed her hands on his broad chest, and smiled up at him. “However, if we were both in bed, we’d be the same height. I’d like that.”

“Zhanna… I’m incredibly flattered… but you’re drunk,” he softly protested.

“I’m **_not_**.”

“You are.  Go to bed, Zhannushka.” His voice was quite soft and affectionate. “I cannot and will not take advantage of you when you’re unable to consent to this. I am **_sober_** , you are not. Go to bed, Zhannushka. **_Alone_**.”

Mishka leaned down to her height, kissed her once on her forehead, while she stood, stunned, in her hallway. She was horrified, embarrassed… ashamed…

 “Janet, you just really fucked up,” she whispered as she heard the front door close.  

* * *

 

Chekov sat in his car and cursed.  Repeatedly. Over and over and over again.  He cursed in Russian, he cursed in Mandarin, he even cursed in Romanian (Quasi fluent thanks to his Romanian granny) and then running out of words, he cursed in English until he had nothing left to voice.

He had turned down Janet Fraiser for the noblest of reasons, and she had been **_pissed_**.

By the time he returned to his quarters, there was a message from his superiors. He was being recalled to Moscow and needed to leave immediately.

Thank God.


	5. Chapter 5

When Janet Fraiser arrived at the base later that morning, she found the base to be rather…hung over and subdued. Plus there was a run on Tylenol and any other pain relievers known to mankind (and Jaffa, oh, and the Tok’Ra also).    Fortunately, Colonel Chekov had gone to ground and was hiding in his quarters, or was smart enough to stay away from her.

“Dr. Fraiser,” General Hammond interrupted her dark mood. “Can we talk in your office?”

“Absolutely, General. I’m glad to see that you are not one of the ones affected,” she gently teased as she escorted him to her office. 

 “No, I have learned many things in my life, including to never play drinking games with the Russians.” Hammond let her enter her office first, and then he followed her. Then he quietly closed the door, and sat in the chair opposite her desk. “This conversation is off the record,” he explained. “Colonel Chekov…”

Janet sat up in her chair and Hammond silenced her protests with one raised finger.

“While it’s not against regs, I do not need to tell you to be discreet. For that I thank you. And from the little I have managed to learn about Chekov the man, he holds his cards close to his vest. However, I must congratulate you as I had no inkling until last night.  I know some believe that I don’t know what happens on this base, but that is **_far_** from the truth. I know 98% of what happens, and can guess pretty damn well about the other two percent. This… understanding… it didn’t even register.”

“General Hammond, I can assure you that **_nothing_** has occurred between Colonel Chekov and myself. You can go to his quarters and ask the good Colonel yourself,” Janet offered.

“Not necessary. Also, I’m surprised you didn’t know that he’s on his way back to Russia. He was recalled an hour or so after he left the party.” Hammond’s eyes narrowed as he watched for her reaction.

“General, there’s really nothing happening between the two of us.”

Hammond blinked once, twice, three times and then he nodded his head. “Of course there isn’t.”

* * *

 

Chekov, being the resident fixer up and sweeping after the horses in the parade type person, was sent hither and yon for his country.  It was good, as it kept him busy, but it was also very much not a good thing because sooner or later, the fickle fates would find him back at Cheyenne.

So they did.

3 AM Moscow time, or roughly 7 PM at the mountain, found him inside the mountain, in the MEDICAL AREA. He listened in tired disbelief to Major Stepanchikov’s explanation on the latest intergalactic incident which had landed the Major in the hospital.

“Fertility festival.” Chekov stated that out loud once more. Just to see if saying it out loud in **_English_** made it sound more reputable than in Russia.

 ** _Nyet_**.

Stephanhickov, a strapping male of almost two hundred centimeters, agreed.

“So, that’s how you managed to injure both hip flexors.  What is the estimate to get you back in the field?” Chekov asked.

“Two months,” Colonel Volkov stated.

That meant, he’d have to request a temporary replacement for the good Major of the intransigent hips. He’d back in Cheyenne within the week, replacement in tow, and he’d have to stay at Cheyenne for the replacement’s first two weeks.

“Fertility festival,” Chekov repeated.

“Maslenitsa is perhaps a more favorable comparison,” offered Volkov.

“It is most assuredly, **_NOT_** ,” growled Chekov.  “Maslenitsa is not a **_bacchanalian_** orgy. While this incident was caused by a….”

No one said a word, not even Lt. Belinova, who had fortunately managed to escape, unscathed and virtue intact (Or at least they had decided not to inform him of such indignities as then he would have been quite angry. He was old, and raised properly, unlike Stephanhickov).

“ ** _Fertility festival_** ,” repeated Chekov. Perhaps if he said it sufficient times, he would be able to say it with a straight face to his supervisors.

As his babushka would say, it was happening -- a goat was eating up a wolf. Or if you were American, pigs were flying.

No doubt the flying pig brigade would have a SG squad before Russia got their second team. Perhaps he’d start wearing his hat while at the Mountain – to prevent pig shit from falling into his rapidly greying hair.

There was someone hovering by Stephanhickov’s bedside. 

“Major, we need to send you for more tests. If you don’t mind, Colonel

Volkov, you and your team can wait outside.” Fraiser’s voice was warm, caring and compassionate. Then she addressed him in a flat tone. “Colonel Chekov, I’m sure you wish to discuss the incident regarding the Major.”

“That is correct, Doctor Fraiser,” he agreed in his best Colonel Chekov voice.

“I’ll meet you in my office.”

* * *

 

Their meeting was polite, but the tension between the two of them was the third person in the room. After Chekov had finished reviewing the incident he had nicknamed _Stravinsky's Rite of Spring_ , due to both the subject matter and the near riot it would cause among his supervisors, he decided to face the issue head on.

“Doctor Fraiser, you seem… **_displeased_** … with Misha. Please…speak freely,” he requested.

She just shook her head.

“Ah. I wonder what has caused this Siberian wind here in the mountain.  Will you not say?” Chekov asked.

Not a word, and he felt… tired. And foolish, to permit himself to become… _intrigued_ … by Janet Fraiser.

He accepted his defeat.

“Are you angry at me because I refused your advances?  You were drunk, Zhanna. Agreeing to your offer, would have been a mistake. Вино́ вину́ твори́т. Wine causes guilt. If it was to be done between us, it would be done clear-headed. I would not dishonor you by taking advantage.”  He inhaled and then exhaled. “Ah, foolish, foolish Misha. His wife spoke truly, she said that he was smart man given to foolishness. To think… he thought… he had hoped... Ah Mishka… you… stupid, stupid bear.”

Chekov nodded his head, and smiled. “Good evening, Dr. Fraiser. Give my regards to Cassandra, please.”

* * *

 

Colonel Chekov had made his escape from Dr. Fraiser when he was accosted by Colonel O’Neill.  He kept his face expressionless, but inwardly, he was utilizing the four pillars of mat with great fervor. He was busy conjugating his favorite curse word,  _yebát,_ when O'Neill spoke. 

“Colonel,” O’Neill greeted him.

Chekov looked around them before answering, just to confirm that O’Neill was speaking to him.  Then he looked upwards, to confirm that the pigs had arrived at the mountain, and were even now, flying overhead, clad in SGC regalia.  Ah, the piglets must be in orientation, as they were not overhead.

“Colonel,” was his curt response. He attempted to sidestep O’Neill, was blocked, sidestepped again, and again found O’Neill in what Americans cutely called ‘Personal Space.’ “Are we dancing, Colonel?”

“I thought we should have a chance to talk. I know we really haven’t gotten along in the past,” O’Neill admitted.

“Your insolent attitude towards me has been permitted by your rather lenient General so I must confess that I no desire… to be…. friendly… with you,” was Chekov’s response.  He feigned stepping towards his right, instead went for the left and stepped past O’Neill’s blockade.

O’Neill did a jig and Chekov found him, once more, blocked by O’Neill.

“I really want to talk to you,” O’Neill stated.  Chekov shook his head and sidestepped O’Neill once more. “It’s about Doctor Fraiser.”

Chekov stopped and then pivoted towards O’Neill. “I have nothing to say about the doctor. Voice your concerns to her, not me.”

“It’s pretty obvious there’s something going on between you two,” O’Neill stated. “Treat her well, or you’ll deal with me.”

His threat was rewarded with a snort of laughter from the Russian and a spat of evil sounding Russian. “There is **_nothing_** going on between us. I also would advise you that you are not in the position to cast aspersions on her character. The rumors about fraternization and fornication between your team runs rampant through these halls. Learn discretion, Colonel.”

O’Neill stepped closer to the slightly shorter man.  “I’ll be **_watching_**. One wrong step and you will regret it.”

Chekov then stepped closer to O’Neill and quietly stated, “Then I will use that quaint American expression that you taught me. **_Bite me_** , Colonel.”

 


	6. 6

“I really want to talk to you,” O’Neill stated.  Chekov shook his head and sidestepped O’Neill once more. “It’s about Doctor Fraiser.”

Chekov stopped and then pivoted towards O’Neill. “I have nothing to say about the doctor. Voice your concerns to her, not me.”

“It’s pretty obvious there’s something going on between you two,” O’Neill stated. “Treat her well, or you’ll deal with me.”

His threat was rewarded with a snort of laughter from the Russian and a spat of evil sounding Russian. “There is **_nothing_** going on between us. I also would advise you that you are not in the position to cast aspersions on her character. The rumors about fraternization and fornication between your team runs rampant through these halls.”

O’Neill stepped closer to the slightly shorter man.  “I’ll be **_watching_**.”

Chekov then stepped closer to O’Neill and stated in a quiet voice. “Then I will use that quaint American expression that you taught me. **_Bite me_** , Colonel.”

The two stubborn Colonels stared at each, daring the other to blink first.

 “Colonels?” General Hammond enunciated. “Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all,” O’Neill glibly assured his Commanding Officer.

“He expressed a desire to be friendly. I told him… how did you say it those many months ago, Colonel?” Chekov pretended to appear confused and then pounced. “Over **_his_** dead body.”

Chekov beamed, his delight over using American Slang blatantly fabricated.

“The expression is actually, not over **_my_** dead body,” O’Neill helpfully offered.

“Yes, that is what I said. Over **_your_** dead body. Since you’ll be dead, there’s sadly… no way to be friendly. Good night,” Chekov nodded his head and quietly made his escape, though Jack swore he could hear **_Polyushko-polye_** softly playing.

Hammond waited until it was just O’Neill and him in hallway.

“Colonel O’Neill,” Hammond spoke mildly, which meant he was well and truly NOT AMUSED with Jack Jack.  “One of these days, I **_may_** find myself in need his support. Have you forgotten that his assistance helped save Teal’c life?”

“For how much money?” protested O’Neill. “The Russian got their forty pieces of silver…”

“Your continual antagonism of the colonel is making him less likely to support me because he views us as package deal. Leave the Colonel alone.”

“I was just being friendly,” Jack protested even as Hammond escorted him to his office.

“Sit.” Hammond ordered. So Jack sat.  Hammond then exhaled, and asked, “What did you say?”

 “Nothing. I was just being **_friendly_** , for crying out loud,” protested Jack.

 “And what friendly advice did you give him about his relationship with Dr. Fraiser?” Hammond questioned.

Jack narrowed his eyes before Hammond added, “You two pit bulls were so focused on each other that you failed to notice that I overheard part of your conversation. Dr. Fraiser will be most displeased to find you meddling in her personal life.”

“I am just looking out for her,” protested Jack.

“Jack,” Hammond then paused, and exhaled very slowly. “Dr. Fraiser has taken on both Hathor and Nirrti. Do you honestly believe that she is in need of our assistance with a single, solitary Russian Colonel?”

“ ** _Our_** assistance?”  Jack added significant emphasis on the word ‘our’.

Hammond just gazed steadily at Jack until O’Neill dropped his eyes.

“When you put it that way, no,” Jack admitted.  “But he does anything to hurt her, SG1 is throwing a sock and soap party and you’re invited.”

“Get the hell outta my office, Jack,” Hammond barked. However, Hammond didn’t bother to his amusement.

* * *

 

Chekov finally made it to the safety of his quarters.  As he was quite busy cursing in Russian under his breath, he failed to realize that the SGC was at status’ CHEKOV LEVEL 1 – and everyone was fleeing the Oncoming Storm.

He drafted his report, reread it several times and decided it best to revise FERTILITY FESTIVAL to NATIVE STRANGERS WELCOMING CEREMONY.  He could always claim confusion in translation later on if the ruse was discovered – and he’d warn SG4 to keep their damn lips shut.

A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy, or in this case, the Kremlin.

That done, he saw that he had an email from Cassie. **_Hi Misha! I’m having some problems with rotational kinematics and dynamics.  If you have a few free minutes, can you call me? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSE I need HELP!!!!– Cassie._**

Pondering the genetic quality that enabled Hanaka born teenagers to assimilate American culture so absolutely that she had begun using excessive letters and puncutations in her emails, Chekov decided to put the blame where it was well deserved. O’Neill.

Then he dialed for what he would hope would be a short conversation. No, instead, a few minutes on the phone turned into almost two hours, as he was tired so his Russian accent was more pronounced even as he tried his damndest to clearly enunciate. Plus he couldn’t visualize her errors so she literally had to walk him thorough each and every equation.

“I’m so sorry it took so long,” Cassie apologized. “You sound exhausted.”

“It is no matter, I had nothing better to do here,” he lied. Well, yes, he could have gotten a few hours’ sleep but his ride was due shortly. He’d sleep when he was dead… more hopefully, he’d nap on the flight home.  “Any other questions? I am leaving for home shortly, but will be back in two days. I should be here for the following two weeks if you need any additional assistance.”

“Your bosses has you working hard, don’t they?”

“It’s what I do,” he demurred.

“That means you’ll be here this weekend? You doing anything Saturday night?” Cassie asked. “I have a physics exam on Monday. Plus I need to submit ideas for a report on the Siege of Leningrad and you said that your family was involved with that?”

 ** _Involved_**.

Try more like **_slaughtered_** , Chekov thought.  He had lost his grandfather and all of his siblings in that disaster.   Then he had shown up under the cabbage leaf, very much unanticipated, long after his parents had given up all hope on having another child. 

“Did you get permission from your mother for me to tutor you on Saturday?”

Janet Fraiser was pragmatic. She’d dance with the devil, put up with him, if it helped Cassie pass Physics. Though part of him truly hoped that she would just say “Nyet!” to him tutoring.

“There shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll let you know what time,” Cassie assured him. “Have a good flight home.”

* * *

 

Saturday afternoon.

Janet Fraiser shook her head at Cassie. “You asked Colonel Chekov to tutor you and you forgot to mention it to me until he’s almost here? Cassie, it’s supposed to snow tonight. He may not want to drive in it.”

“It’s only supposed to be an inch or two,” Cassie explained. “I need the help for my exam on Monday.”

Janet counted to one hundred slowly and then exhaled.

“Well, tell him not to bring anything,” Janet weakly protested even as she dialed Samantha Carter.  She took her cell phone to another part of the house and prayed Samantha would pick up the phone.

“Hi, what’s up?” Sam asked.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”  Janet tried not to plead. “Can you come over?”

“Sure! What’s up?”

“Colonel Chekov is tutoring Cassie tonight…”

“Sure, I’ll take over tutoring Cassie so you two…” Sam quickly offered.

“NO.  There is nothing happening between the two of us, but I don’t want to be alone with him and Cassie.  It seems that our rumored assignation is all over the base as even Hammond talked to me about it,” Janet explained, even as she tried not to remember that one sweet kiss.

Her Russian bear, normally so brusque had been oddly diffident, as though he hadn’t kissed anyone since his wife’s death.

She wished she wouldn’t remember the kiss. Because whenever she did, the painful reminder of how she drunkenly propositioned him immediately followed.

_Hey! Let’s go to bed so we can be the same height!_

Bingo! There, the drunken slut was at it again and it always ended the same way, with a kiss to her forehead and Mishka’s… no….  **_Chekov’s_** sad smile.  Plus there had been that odd look in his eyes that she couldn’t translate then or now.

“Hammond? What did he say?” Sam asked.

“Mazel Tov,” Janet confessed.

Sam’s laughter didn’t ease Janet’s apprehension. “Hey, did I laugh at you regarding all your extraterrestrial boyfriends? I mean, could you even share one with me? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a date?”

* * *

 

“Tea?” Sam asked after she had divested herself of her heavy coat. “I didn’t know anyone here drank tea.”

“Don’t worry, there’s coffee for you and Mom. It’s just, Misha drinks tea,” Cassie explained as she arranged the kitchen table just so.  The plate with the teacup was placed right next to Janet’s coffee cup and Cassie smiled at her handiwork.

“Oh… **_Misha_** ….” Sam dryly stated.

“I thought he was interested in Mom,” Cassie easily admitted. “I knew she was, but now she’s back to calling him Colonel Chekov. I had to pretend I had a test on Monday that I needed his help on so he’d visit Mom.”

“You did **_not_** lie to Colonel Chekov, Cassandra.” Janet had overheard the last part of their conversation and she was stunned by Cassie’s shenanigans.  “He just flew in from Moscow this afternoon and he’s coming here specifically to help you with your homework. He should be sleeping as it’s **_two thirty_** in the morning in Moscow.”

“He assured me that he slept on the way here,” Cassie assured her mom. “Besides, he’s parking his car in the driveway now.”

“We **_will_** talk about this later, after I send him back to the base,” Janet warned her wayward daughter.   There was a knock on the door and Janet realized that neither Sam nor Cassie were moving to open the door. “You were supposed to be a good influence on her, Sam!”

“We need to give them some privacy,” a serious Cassie informed Samantha.

“Some place we can hear,” Sam suggested.

“I know just the spot.”

* * *

 

Chekov knocked on the door and waited.  He was weary in his very bones, and it smelled like snow, a heavy, wet snow, so he prayed that tonight’s lesson would be a short one.  When the door finally opened, it was Janet Fraiser. She stepped out of her house and closed the door behind her.

“Colonel Chekov…” She began.

“Michael,” he interrupted. “I invited you to call me Miska… and you don’t wish to do so. That’s fine, but at least call me **_Michael_**. Now, Zhanna, why do you bar the door?”

“I need to tell you something…” Janet then paused and bit her lip.  How she could tell Chekov that Cassandra had lied to him?

He waited. Inpatiently. As it was cold and he was quite tired.

“You do,” he finally said. “You need to explain to me why you no longer talk to me. What have I done to anger you? You were the only American at the damn base who would talk to me, and now you don’t. I don’t understand. I have always treated you with deference. I did not take advantage of you, but you act like I shamed you. You kissed **_me_** , do you remember that?  Or do you fear that your Russian bear… ”

Chekov paused and Janet realized that the conversation was spiraling wildly out of control.

“I have not been with a woman since my wife died.  You were the first one that I even kissed…”  That was whispered so softly that Janet almost didn’t hear him. “I feared that I had forgotten how it is done for it has been many years for me.”

Very long pause and then Chekov spoke, “At the very end, I could only hold her because Irishka was so very frail. It mattered not to me, but Irishka … she feared it mattered much.”

She said nothing because she wasn’t sure what to say.

“Ah,” Chekov softly exclaimed. “You are surprised. You did not know that the Russian bear could care so deeply.  Open the damn door, Zhanna. I am weary.  Let me help Cassie with her homework and then you will be quickly rid of your unwanted Russian bear.”

“Michael…” Janet protested.

He didn’t answer because really, he had said all he wanted to say.

* * *

 

As a dutiful guest, he had brought Zefir for their tea, made small talk and then began helping Cassie with her lessons. However, he gave her a small box first when it was just the two of them in the kitchen.

“I wasn’t here for your Christmas, nor mine, but I had this for you,” he explained. He gestured at the box, “Open. It is something small that I hope you like.”

Cassie opened the box to find a small necklace. There were two stars on the necklace of differing sizes and Chekov helped her spread the necklace out on the table.  “These represent the binary star system of your home world. PX8-987-A and PX8-987-B.”

Her lip quivered, and Chekov leaned towards her. “I understand what it’s like to be away from home. Where everything is similar yet not. I wear my father’s cross when I come to America.  It helps.”

“Misha…” Cassie whispered. “I can’t accept this. I lied, I didn’t need help with my homework. I just wanted you to visit Mom.”

“I guessed that,” Chekov softly admitted. “I’m here anyway, as I wished to give that to you. Happy Christmas, Cassandra. Now open your book to page one hundred and seventeen so we can discuss your homework.”


	7. 7

“So, it was a very good thing that I came to help you with your homework,” Chekov softly assured Cassie after two hours of extensive physic-ing.  “You understand the equations now.”

“I’m so sorry about lying to you, but I wanted you and Mom to have some time together,” Cassie explained to her physics tutor.  

“End never justifies the means, remember that. Your mother and I…. there is nothing between us, so don’t do this again. Call me if you need help. Don’t use it as a false pretense to bring me here. If you do, I will be angry, as your mother will be uncomfortable. I don’t desire that. Anyway I should leave, it’s supposed to snow later tonight and I fear it will be more than they predicted.”

He said his goodbyes, and then open the door to discover… **_snow_**.

Not a great deal of snow. Not an inch or two or four… but enough so the ground was white. With the hard earned experience after a tour in Siberia, he could tell that he needed to leave now or else he’d be trapped in Dr. Fraiser’s house for the duration.  Then he’d have to deal with O’Neill and his obscene interest in Janet Fraiser’s virtue.

And if he had forced to stay at the house overnight with Samantha Carter at the house, O’Neill would be foaming at the mouth.  Mishka, despoiler of SGC Shield maidens.

Bah! Perhaps, he’d get more respect.

He left then, and began the drive back to the mountain, where hopefully, O’Neill hadn’t pissed off an intergalactic superpower as he wished for sleep.  Knowing O'Neill, he had pissed off somebody, as he had done that five or six times already.

However, time for happier thoughts. The one thing Misha liked about the Americans was their roads.  They were proud of them, so they kept them in good condition.  Oh, and he appreciated their radio stations as his secret vice was The Beatles.

“Let's all get up and dance to a song that was a hit before your Mother was born, though she was born a long, long time ago,” he sang along with Paul.

The roads were slick so he kept his speed down. Yes, it would take him longer to get back to the Mountain, however better in one piece than many. He slowed down, put on his hazards as he saw a car sliding on a particular icy patch. 

Afterwards, he wasn’t sure what happened.  When the first gentle tap on his rear bumper turned into a sideways scrape and then escalated into a series of varying impacts.  Instead of counting the number of impacts, he focused on relaxing.

Oh, and **_praying_**.

Hopefully, God would forgive him the expletives. Because he feared that he’d be having a face to face meeting in a few minutes.

* * *

 

“Did you tell Colonel Chekov that you lied to him?” Janet questioned her daughter.

Cassie nodded her head. 

“And?” was her next prompt.

“He told me that he had guessed, but he wished to give me my Christmas present. It’s a necklace that represents the binary stars that orbited Hanka,” Cassie explained. She hesitantly brought out the box and pushed it towards Janet.   “Misha thought I might like having part of my home world with me as he feels similar when he’s in America, that everything is familiar yet not. He wears his family’s St. Andrew’s cross because it’s part of his homeland.”

Janet opened the box, inspected the necklace and then shook her head.

“It’s beautiful, but don’t ever lie to him again.  Don’t take advantage of the fact that he’s willing to help you with your homework.”

Her daughter nodded her head.

“Go to your room, and make sure tomorrow you write a nice thank you note,” Janet informed her wayward daughter.

That done, the miscreant sent to bed early, Janet decided it was time for a girl’s night with Samantha Carter.

“Got the wine?” she pleaded with Samantha.

“Only if you tell me what’s really happening with you and Colonel Chekov,” Sam requested, even as she held the bottle out of Janet’s tiny reach.

Damn it, sometimes it really sucked that she was besties with the 5’9 Samantha.  She should just kick her in her kneecaps and take back her wine. Problem was that she might drop the bottle. Then Janet would have a sore foot and no wine. 

“Let’s change in our pajamas and have a slumber party if you want to talk about boys.”

* * *

 

When at last there was silence, Chekov opened his eyes. There was a car on his car’s hood. A van rested in what was once his backseat and when he turned to the right, there was a young woman driver who appeared in hysterics. He couldn’t blame her as her children were sobbing.

His air bag had inflated/deflated sometime during the pile up, but he couldn’t recall when.  Gingerly, he removed himself from the car, declared the US Government issued car a complete and total waste with a sincere hope that the bill would be sent to the taxpayers of that great country, the US of A, instead of him.  Chekov managed to crawl over his car to the young lady.  She was struggling to open her car door, so he knocked on her window. In response, she pointed over his head, toward the left so he turned to face a gas tanker. It was on its side.

“It’s leaking,” the van driver informed Chekov whose ears were ringing so badly that it took him a moment to decipher him. “We’ve **_got_** to get her and her kids out of the car. I’ve called the police, they’re coming, but we’ve got to get everyone away from that goddamn tanker.”

Naturally, because he was in the US of A, Land of the Free, the NRA and the Mouthy O’Neill, he hadn’t brought his Spetsnaz machete with him as there was too much potential for trouble. Well, if his car keys didn’t work to break a window, maybe he could use his elbow.

“We better hurry, as it looks like the two of us are the only drivers that can get out of their cars.”

He tapped on the window and motioned for her to move as far away as possible and raised his elbow.  Hopefully, he’d succeed in breaking the window, not his elbow.

 

* * *

 

Samantha and Janet were sitting on Janet’s king sized bed. It was ludicrously large for her, but when Janet had bought it, she had decided on a king size bed in the misguided hopes that there would be somebody (male) sleeping on the left side in her future.

“I think Chekov was interested in me,” Janet admitted.  “When he’s not Colonel Chekoving, he’s actually rather… sweet.”

Sam did not voice his disagreement, but still she couldn’t prevent herself from mouthing the word, “SWEET?”

“When he’s not in the mountain, he’s a totally different person.  He speaks five different languages, can teach Physics to Cassie in a way that she can understand it and… he loves The Beatles.” The last was slowly admitted as though Chekov had confessed to a great crime against humanity.

“The Beatles as in John Lennon Beatles?” Sam asked.

“No, the order of Coleoptera Beatles. Yes, the George Harrison Beatles **_Beatles_**.  Chekov’s also very funny.  You had one of the SG4 Slammers at the holiday party, didn’t you? He deliberately got most of the SGC personnel drunk. Him and Volkov.”

Colonel Volkov was now in high demand at parties due to his bartending skills at creating the very potent drinks known as SG4 Soviet Slammers.

“I refuse to admit drinking that concoction on the grounds that it may incriminate me,” Samantha demurred.

“I had four, and he offered to drive me home because I was tipsy.  We had danced at the party and I believed that he was interested, so I kissed him once we were alone here. Then offered to take him to bed because… that-way-we-would-be-the-same-height-if-we-were-in-bed…” Janet blurted out that last word and then covered her face.

After a long pause, Sam asked, “You offered to take him to bed so you two could be the same height?”

“It’s very difficult to kiss a man who is almost foot taller than you. I understand that you don’t have that problem as all of your extraterrestrial boyfriends have been manageable height wise, but he is almost a foot taller than me … I … he turned me down, Sam.  Told me that I was drunk so he wouldn’t take advantage of me. Since then it’s been awkward between us.  He tried talking to me about it, twice, but he mentioned his **_wife_** , Sam. Both times. Sam, both times! _**The. Wife. Gets. Mentioned.”**_

“He’s **_married_**?” Sam yelped.

“He’s a widower.   A little over five years, but… it’s just… he’s so sincere about his late wife, and… respectable… and I was a drunken little slut who wanted to be the same height as him in… in bed. He believed that I was acting as though **_he_** had shamed **_me_**. Instead of the other way around. I made an ass of myself and…”

Long pause and Samantha let her decide when to continue the conversation. “He doesn’t even tell me when he’s in town. He pops in, shows up in my office and then leaves without any notice… he asked me to call him Mishka, which is apparently extremely personal….  Mishka is the first guy that has been possibly interested in me that readily accepts that Cassie and I are a packaged deal and I screwed it up by drunkenly propositioning him.”

More silence.

“I mean, every time he wants to talk about what happened between us, he mentions HER.  I was the first woman he’s kissed since his wife died.  I mean, yet he doesn’t even tell me when he’s in town or when he’s leaving, Sam. If he’s interested, the signals he’s sending aren’t telling me that he is.”

“Janet, maybe he doesn’t know what you want. He’s male. He’s Russian,” Sam explained. “Why don’t you invite take him out to dinner and let it just be the two of you. You two can hash it out. How is he at kissing?”

Janet smiled and motioned for Sam to pour the wine.

“Shy. Surprisingly so. He told me later… that he was worried that he had forgotten how it was done,” admitted Janet.

Sam smiled and Janet tilted her head. “What?”

“He’s a romantic,” Sam laughed. “Colonel Chekov, of the pointing finger and the threatening eyebrows, is a secret romantic. Go, have dinner with him, clear the air.”

A long pause and then Sam offered a helpful comment, “Just don’t let him bartend.”

* * *

 

General Hammond’s phone rang and it took a moment or three for him to find the handset.

“Hammond,” he barked as it was his work phone. The caller ID said it was Paul Davis, so he really didn’t need to be Suzy Sunshine as it was never good news when Davis called at 3 am.  Especially as he was meeting with Paul at 9am.

“General, I’m sorry to wake you. It’s three am, and the Pentagon just received confirmation that the car Colonel Chekov was utilizing was identified in the wreckage of multi-car pileup on 25 that occurred earlier this evening. There were twenty seven cars, multiple tractor trailers and a fuel tanker involved.  Well, that’s what the police department believes as the tanker exploded and it’s been a real mess with the scene. Please tell me, has Colonel Chekov contacted you?” Davis asked.

Hammond sat up in his bed and collected his thoughts. “No, I haven’t talked to him since yesterday afternoon. Major, what’s the issue? Was Chekov badly hurt?”

“We can’t locate Chekov and we can’t ping his phone. One of the drivers says that Chekov assisted her and her family out of the car, but nobody can truly confirm that they’ve seen him since.  The driver’s sure it’s him as he gave her his jacket for her youngest son. The police have confirmed that Chekov’s ID and his wallet were in the coat pocket.  I’ve spoken to Colonel Volkov and he hasn’t heard from Chekov either. Volkov’s taken his team to the site of the accident to see if they can find him.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Hammond asked.

“They’re bringing in search and rescue dogs, just to confirm that they didn’t overlook any victims. The scene is pretty bad, General.”

“I imagine if there was a fire. Which way was he driving? Towards the base?”

“Yes,” Davis agreed. “We’ve sent out his picture to the local hospitals and the police departments, but we haven’t gotten a hit.”

 “I’ll make a few phone calls. I’ll call you in a few minutes,” Hammond assured Major Davis. He disconnected the phone, then dialed Janet Fraiser’s home number. “Hello, Dr. Fraiser? I’m sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour, but I know Colonel Chekov had planned on helping Cassandra with her physics homework last night. By any chance, did he stay because of the weather?”

It was a white lie, as he knew Chekov had left Fraiser’s house to return to the mountain.

He got the answer he feared, and he quickly explained the situation to Dr. Fraiser.

“If he calls you, have him call me,” he requested. “Please. Also, do you have his medical records in case we need to identify him?”


	8. 8

“Are you ok?” the man asked.  “Buddy, you look like you’ve been in a fight and lost.”

Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov deeply concentrated on what the man said, made the mental calculations necessary to translate it, and then he nodded his head. **_English_**? The man was speaking AMERICAN ENGLISH? What the hell was he doing in the United States? He should be home with his wife, as that damn leukemia had just returned with an unholy vengeance. After they had learned that crushing news, he and his wife had decided to spend the week at their pleasant little dacha. Just the two of them, so they could spend some much needed time alone, in cozy, quiet intimacy as they reeled from this latest blow.

Why was he in America? Where was Irishka?  His Irochka, the center of his life?

What the hell was he doing in blasted AMERICA?

“You should be in a hospital,” the drunken man continued.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Chekov admitted, more out of a sense to say something reasonably intelligent rather than in actual agreement.  “I shouldn’t have left.”

That conversation ended, Chekov walked away, and he staggered as though he was drunk.  He needed to find some place safe, some place that could tell him where the hell he was. God, his head **_ached_**. It was a fierce headache and it so thoroughly commanded his attention so he almost failed to notice how every part of him hurt.

He patted his pockets with his left hand, felt the telltale lack of a wallet and then he noticed the horrible, horrible fact that he was not wearing his wedding ring on his right hand. Thanks to a street light, he was able to peer in a shop window and he saw his appearance was as battered as though he had gone fifteen rounds with Wladimir and Vitali Klitschko. Plus … was that **_grey_** in his hair?

Good God, he had gone to hell. Hopefully, Irishka hadn't divorced him as he was no longer the man she had married. 

No jacket either. There was a light snow falling, and based on the snow around him, it appeared that it was midwinter. Least it was an American winter, so it was almost a brisk spring morning in the mother country.

He glanced around him, saw a dome with a cross on it in the far distance.  **_Orthodox_**.

Maybe they would have a narthex that was open.

Hopefully.

* * *

 

At six in the morning, on the one day Janet could sleep late, a concerned Janet got out of her bed, careful not to disturb the slumbering Samantha.  Sleep had been a lost cause after Hammond had called her regarding the missing Chekov. How could she sleep when she blamed herself for not insisting that he sleep on the couch instead of driving back to the base? If it had been Jack, Daniel or Teal’c, she would have insisted and **_won_** that argument. Instead, with Chekov, she had been too happy to see him leave.

Janet closed the door softly behind her and then she called her team at the SGC.

“Hi. Did Chekov show up yet?” she asked Dr. Warner, who to her deep unease, had been the one to pick up the phone.  “Please tell me he’s there, roaring about something and that the staff is in hiding from him. Just throw him a cup of tea, a cookie or two and tell him to simmer down.”

When Bill took his time to respond back to her, Janet felt an icy chill down her back.

“No, he’s not here. Nobody’s seen him since the car accident.  Volkov and SG4 grabbed enough medical supplies to perform an emergency nephrectomy in the field before they ran out of here. Even the General is at the accident scene and they’ve brought in dogs to see if they missed him. Janet, the rumors are flying around here. There’s even a rumor that he **_defected_**.”

Oh good God, if they thought he **_defected_** , Femme Fatale Fraizer was probably involved somehow.

“Chekov?” Janet spat. “There’s no way he **_defected_**.”

“To make matters worse, the Kremlin is sending people.  They’re assembling a team and they’ll be leaving Moscow at ten to assist in the search.  Our favorite Russian bear is politically connected to several very powerful generals. There was also a passing comment made to one of the Russian Generals that if anything ever happened to him while he was here, to blame O’Neill.”

Yes, that was most assuredly Chekov.

“I shouldn’t tell you this but I heard Hammond reaming out Colonel O’Neill. It was an official dressing down combined with an ‘I told you so’. It was…absolute poetry the way he got his ass severed and then handed to him. Remind me to never piss off The General.”

Agreed, but please let them find Chekov before General Hammond decided to speak to her.

_Please, God. Are you there, it’s me, Janet Fraizer? Help!_

“Do you need me to come in?” Janet asked.  “Besides, what are you doing there at six?”

Warner paused once more, and that made Janet’s decision. “They pulled you in because they wanted a trauma surgeon there just in case? Bill, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me if he shows up, please.”

She hung up her phone and slowly exhaled as she tried to ground and center herself , or some crap like that which she had learned in that long ago yoga class. 

“Mom,” Cassie whispered. Janet spun to face her daughter, and naturally, Sam was behind her daughter.

“Honey, I didn’t realize you were in the room. What are you doing up so early?” Janet asked.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I turned on the TV. Mom, there was a big accident last night, and Misha was involved. And his picture is on the TV. They said… he’s missing… and accident was…. after he left here.  I tried calling his phone, but it said that his voice mail was full.”

There was a tremor in Cassie’s voice that Janet knew meant her daughter was close to tears.

“I’m sure Colonel Chekov is fine. He’s probably in a waiting room at a hospital, waiting to be seen.”

Cassie shook her head and explained, “Mom, they sent his picture to the local hospitals and the hospitals say that he’s not there. The reporter is even standing outside St. Francis Medical Center. Mom, the gas tanker exploded and they can't find Misha. If anything happened to him, it'll be my fault. He came here last night only because I lied to him.”

-=-

Father Marcus hesitated, but only briefly, when he saw the man leaning against the door of the church. Whomever it was, the man was a child of God. From his disreputable appearance, the stranger was also in dire need of assistance. He wasn’t wearing a coat in the brisk wind, and he appeared to have been in a bar fight as one eye was swollen shut, and his face was covered in abrasions and contusions plus a long, jagged laceration that ran across his nose. Not that Marcus would know of things such a bar right, first hand. No, not at all.  He was now a man of God, and his wild oats of yesteryear had long been threshed and harvested.

“Batiushka?” The man noticed his arrival and addressed him in Russian.   Father Marcus was only familiar with the term because of a comparative religion course he had once taken.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Russian. Do you speak English?”

In response, the battered man fumbled at his neck and pulled out a necklace.

“St. Andrew’s Cross,” Father Marcus noted. “And that looks like the Virgin of Kazan.”

He was rewarded with a head nod which nearly caused the Russian to stagger and fall as though drunk.  He didn't smell drunk, but he appeared as though someone had taken a baseball bat to him. 

“I would help you regardless if you were Orthodox or not.  What is your name? Come, let’s bring you into the narthex as you appear cold.”

“Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov. Polkóvnik….” Chekov slurred his numbers and Father Marcus remembered hearing the name Chekov on his way to the church.

“Were you in a car accident? You look as though your air bag deployed?” Father Marcus asked even as he assisted Chekov into the narthex. “Come now, sit down.”

“I don’t know,” Chekov admitted as he nearly collapsed into the chair. He gingerly touched his nose with his left hand and grimaced from the pain.

“Are you in the Russian Air Force?” Father Marcus continue to prompt even as he turned the heat higher in the building.

“Yes, I am. I think, ….but I don’t know…. where I’m am or why,” Chekov admitted.

“You’re in Colorado Springs. You’re probably teaching at the Air Force Academy. You were in a car accident, and everyone is looking for you.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Or the wrong things.

“Who’s looking for me?” The Russian asked. He struggled to stand and bit back a curse at the sharp pain in his right arm.  “Forgive me, I did not mean to curse.”

“I think I can excuse it as you look in bad shape. Let me call an ambulance for you as you need to be in a hospital.” As Chekov began to protest, Father Marcus interrupted him. “I’ll stay with you until we find someone who knows you. Mikhail Kirillovich, you seem confused. Do you know what day it is?”

The Russian colonel paused, as though he was a student facing an exam question. He thought hard, and then came up with an answer. Unfortunately, it was the wrong answer.

“August… fourteenth…. Nineteen ninety six. Why is it snowing though? It doesn’t snow in August in America, does it?”

“Because it’s actually January twentieth, two thousand and two. I’m calling for an ambulance.”

* * *

 

The two midnight 911 dispatchers looked at the clock, and then each other.  It had been a hellish night as they had been understaffed and with that colossal accident on 25, they were looking forward to that magical time known as SHIFT CHANGE.

“The next shift better be on time,” muttered one darkly.

“Please, they can’t get here on time in good weather, let alone, snow.”

The phone rang and it was answered quickly and efficiently. “Hello, Colorado Springs Police Department, Dispatcher Byrnes speaking. How may I help you?”

She listened carefully, began tapping away at her keyboard and repeated, “Father, to confirm. You are calling from the Holy Theophany Church located on North Chestnut. You believe that the Russian Air Force Colonel that has been reporting missing from the earlier accident is now sitting in the narthex of your church? You are also requesting an ambulance at this time because he appears confused and disorientated.”

Her coworker leaned over her console and mouthed, “I’ll call out EMS, then contact that Major Davis guy that keeps calling.”

Byrnes gave her coworker a thumbs up.

“Can you ask him what his name is?” Dispatcher Byrnes listened and then sighed. “I am afraid that I will need to spell that one for me. So to confirm that - Michael India Kilo Hotel Alpha…”

* * *

 

General Hammond’s phone rang.

“Hammond,” he barked.  The General listened for a bit and then gestured at SG4 to stop exploring the wreckage as the concerned team had done everything except take Chekov’s car apart in their zeal to locate Chekov.  When Hammond had first arrived at the scene, he had experienced the heart stopping sight of Colonel Volkov’s size 12 boots sticking out from underneath the crushed vehicle.  For one heart attack inducing moment, he had truly feared that it was CHEKOV's body  under the car until Volkov had wiggled his feet. “Confirming Holy Theophany Church North Chestnut. If you can, have someone call the base. Have them ask Dr. Fraiser to meet us there as she lives close to that area. If he’s confused, I know she speaks a splattering of Russian.”

He spoke to SG4, confirmed that they were familiar with the location, and then got into the back seat of his waiting and thankfully WARM car.

“Holy Theophany Church on North Chestnut. Once we get there, you’re to stay in the car until I can confirm that it’s actually Chekov. If it is him, you **_still_** stay in the car, is that understood, Colonel?”

“Yes, sir!” Jack O’Neill agreed. "Should be there in fifteen minutes."

“Drive, Colonel. Drive. And make it ten.”

* * *

 

The priest was still spoke to him, but Chekov couldn’t listen. Instead he was struggling to understand how it could be 2002. Two thousand and **_two_**.  Why was he in America? Was his wife here?

There was a great deal of noise and he heard someone call out, “MISHA. Misha. Misha. **_MISHA_**. It’s me, Dima. Dimitri Nikolayevhich Volkov. ”

He looked up and saw a familiar stranger, who could be … Dima… an older Dima shaped by five years of life and experiences. When Chekov spoke, he spoke in his mother tongue, “Dima? Is that _**truly** _ you?”

“Yes, it is I. You have scared us. We’ve been searching for you all night, Misha.  Let us take you to the hospital. You do not look well.”

“What year is this?” Chekov softly questioned. “Is it truly 2002? You look older, Dima.”

 “What do you remember?” was Dima’s non-answer.  

“The leukemia had returned. We were to spend next week at our dacha so we could make the hard decisions. Where is my wife?  Why am I here?” Chekov questioned.

“Come, we take you to see a physician, Misha. Dr. Fraiser will take very good care of you, promise.”

“My wife?” Chekov repeated and then saw the answer in Volkov’s eyes. “No….” was his futile protest to his uncaring God. “ _No_. We were going to spend time together at our dacha. She…. She….no…. Dima…. No…. They told us that they had the proper treatment…  **_No_** …She can not be dead, Dima. she can not.”

As a grieving Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov wept for his dead wife, a small woman slipped her way between him and Dima.

Janet Fraiser had just about enough of Volkov’s stupidity.

MEN!

Russian men in particular!

Chekov needed medical treatment about four hours ago, and Volkov had informed Chekov that his wife was dead.  

 ** _Wonderful_**. 

Throw that tidbit in a blender, add a possible case of amnesia, a jigger of vodka and Chekov was mentally and emotionally reeling as though he had imbibed a pitcherful of the SG4 Soviet Slammers.

“Mishka, enough of this stupidity.  Medical care first, discussion later. We need to take you to the hospital,” was her strongly worded command in Russian.

“Who are you?” he whispered. “Who are you?”

“Dr. Janet Fraiser, but you called me Zhannochka. We’re taking you to…” Janet began.

Chekov’s eyes lost their focus on her and he instead stared straight ahead. A thin dribble of spittle ran from his mouth and then he slumped forward. If it hadn’t been for Volkov’s quick actions as Dmitri caught and supported his suddenly unresponsive friend, Chekov would have fallen out of the chair.  Volkov’s quick actions didn’t mean that Volkov was off Janet’s Bad Boy List, but at least he had caught Chekov.

“Mishka! **_Mishka_**!” Janet snapped even as Chekov’s body began to twitch. “Ok, people. Chekov is having a seizure, I needed an ambulance here about an hour ago. Bring him to the floor, Colonel Volkov and roll him on his side. Lt. Beliova, I need your med kit. I need an IV D5W set up. Volkov, you keep talking to Chekov and explain to him that we’re taking care of him, ok?”

“I’ll get an ETA on the ambulance,” Hammond offered.

Janet nodded her head and instead she brushed her hand against Chekov’s cheek. “Mishka, I’m here. I’m giving you Valium to help stop the seizure.  You’ll feel tired, and you can go to sleep as you’ll feel very tired. Don’t fight it, Mishka.”

For a brief moment, Chekov was able to focus upon her, and he mouthed, "Help me."


	9. Chapter 9

The somnolent Chekov roused slightly in the ambulance. The one eye he could open peered at her, and then with a soft exhalation of pain, he closed it once more.

“Hello, Colonel,” Janet cheerily informed her patient. “Nice of you to join our little party. Do you remember who I am?”

“Doctor,” he mouthed with a great deal of effort.  The effort seemed to tax him as he drifted back into semiresponsiveness.

“Very good answer,” she assured him. “Now next question, do you know where you are?”

“No…” The answer alarmed her until after a long pause he added, “We’re **_moving_**. How would… I know? Not driving.”

Seriously, she could do without the Chekov sardonic charm right now.

“Yмник,” shot Colonel Volkov. His comment earned him a grimace from Chekov.

“You just called him a smart ass?” Janet hopefully asked her translator. As an angel of mercy, she couldn’t really call Chekov out but she wouldn’t mind if someone else did.

“Guilty,” Vokov easily admitted with no trace of guilt.

“I’ll have to remember that term,” Dr. Fraiser informed both Russian Colonels.  “Yмник,” she enunciated.

There was a guttural response from Chekov which caused Volkov to laugh.  “Our friend Misha has a very dirty mouth. I cannot translate that as I am a gentleman.”

“Yмник,” she repeated. It was a word that would come in quite handy, she predicted.

* * *

 

“Vitals are stable. However, I need to see what’s brewing in that head of his, so I requested an emergency Cat Scan,” Janet explained to General Hammond when he met them at the hospital entrance.   She noticed, but failed to comment that Colonel O’Neill was sitting in the driver seat of the General’s car. “I also need to call Cassie and inform her that we found him. She was quite worried.”

“I can call her,” Hammond offered. Janet turned to leave him, to follow the stretcher down the hallway, when Hammond softly asked, “Janet, are you up to this? I’m asking as **_George_** , not the **_General_**. With you two involved…should we grab another doctor from the base? Brightman, maybe?”

“I know I’ll need a neurologist, probably an orthopedic. But… I’ll probably stay on as his medical doctor, because I think it best to have someone who knows him and his personality on his case. Plus, he scares Brightman with his grouch routine,” Janet explained. At George Hammond’s compassionate look, Janet further explained, “General…. George… we’re **_not_** involved.  He’s still very much in love with his dead wife. I read the signals he was sending **_wrong_** , so… we’re just… **_not_**. I pushed him a little too hard, too fast.”

“You really believe that? I saw how he looked at you when you were dancing at the holiday party.” Hammond exhaled and then spoke, “Janet, let me tell you something. That first relationship after your wife dies… can be…very…. traumatic for us widowers.  Especially when you were married for a long time, and there are times even though it’s been years… when you wake up, and you mistakenly think she’s lying next to you in your bed… and your heart skips a beat or two because you think it was just a horrible nightmare. Then you realize, she isn’t there and your heart breaks all over again.”

Hammond paused and then continued softly. “Then when you finally accept, truly accept that she’s gone, you believe that part of your life is over, because you just can’t face enduring that agony again.”

Janet rubbed her eyes, as she must have gotten dust in them or something because they were watery.

“Then God laughs, and your wife has long since decided that it’s ok if you love again. You’re mourned enough and you’ve become a real sad sack. So the two of them get together and send someone to you to kick you in the ass.”

“George, this conversation was almost soulfully poetic until that last part,” Janet admitted. Hammond chuckled easily. “Who is **_she_**?”

George smiled and being a gentleman, proceed to deny everything. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Janet. We’re talking about you and a certain closed mouth Russian, not me.”

“You actually sometimes leave the base before I do these days. I’ve noticed that the wedding ring was off, and don’t tell me it’s because you lost weight. Who is **_she_**?”

“Did too loose weight, a whole twenty one pounds on my last physical, you even gave me an AttaBoy sticker,” Hammond proudly stated. “She’s someone who was willing to let me figure it was ok to date again. Got a little annoyed with me, but I’m a bit slow like that, being a dumb boy from Texas who just wanted to fly.”

The Texas twang was a bit thick, and Janet shook her head. “She lets you get away with **_that_**?”

“Hell no, just like my wife didn’t,” Hammond laughingly confessed. “Keep me informed, ok? And Dr. Fraiser?”

Realizing that brief moment of George was over, she reverted back their official relationship. “Yes, General.”

“I readily admit that I have been a little rough on Colonel Chekov, and turned a not very blind eye on others who were making his assignment a great deal more difficult than it have should have been.  I was informed that he is credited with saving quite a few lives last night at great risk to himself. I need to know that man a little better so I can measure his mettle. Get him healthy, Doctor. I’ll be returning to the base so please call me there, so hopefully we can stop the Russians from descending in mass on the Mountain if we can give them a diagnosis with a good prognosis.”

Hammond was about to leave, when he tilted his head and smiled a very fond smile, “Her name is Maggie.”

* * *

 

Six hours later, after assorted Cat scans, x-rays, and various lab work plus a casting on Chekov’s fractured elbow, Janet made the decision to return back to the base with Chekov. It was for a hundred different reasons including the minor fact that Chekov knew enough about the Stargate program to be a major embarrassment if his memory returned in front of the wrong people. To her surprise, the entire SG4 team including Major Stephanhickov, still maimed from his Fertility Rite Participation, plus Chekov’s ubiquitous aide-de-camp, Lt. Alekseyeva, had met at the hospital room to escort Chekov and his stretcher back to the base. However, there was a brief delay when Alekseyeva had wished to speak with Colonel Chekov in private.  Janet Fraiser warned her to make her tête-à-tête short as Chekov was in no condition for a long winded conversation.

* * *

 

Olga Alekseyeva entered the room and quickly went to her godfather’s side. It was not widely known but her father had served with both Chekov and Volkov. After her father’s death in service, both men had taken her on as a favorite niece and had kept a paternal eye on her and her career over the years.

“Godfather, it’s your little Olen'ka.  You remember me, yes?” she whispered in Russian

“Of course,” he assured her. “Though I remember you as a recent graduate, not like this.”

“I’m your aide-de-camp now. You wished for someone you could trust when you working with the Americans so you requested me. It was a very great honor to be selected. You gave me specific instructions on what I should do if anything happened to you. I wish to assure that I am following them. I have your journal and I’ve sanitized your quarters per your instructions.”

“Your father would be proud,” Chekov whispered.  “What else?”

“Godfather, they are sending **_Kharitonov_** here.  You warned me that he lacks the true comprehension of the Pandora Box that the Americans have opened. That’s he’s dangerous and that this project affects the WORLD’s safety – not just America, not just Russia, but the world.”

“He’s… actually… stupid which is worse.” Chekov attempted to sit up, jarred his right arm which was nicely casted due to a broken elbow and he winced. “I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t tell you what to do…”

“You told me that you trust Volkov completely. I will reach out to him and advise him about Kharitonov. I hope that will be sufficient,” she informed him.

“Tell me why am I here in America?” Chekov questioned. “They tell me it’s a project between our two countries but they won’t tell me anything more. Afraid of further scrambling my brains.”

“The Americans have a program that permits them to travel to the other worlds. You represent our people in this. You rightly fear that they will bring destruction upon us with their American Jingoism. We have barely escaped alive from their previous errors.”

Olen’ka was dead serious so he accepted what she said as the truth. A lot could happen and apparently HAD happened in five years.

“Among the Americans, do I trust any of them? Their general? Anyone?” whispered Chekov.

“You tutored Fraiser’s daughter in physics like you once did me. I thought there was a fondness developing between you and the doctor, but it seemed over.”

“She called me Mishka,” Chekov softly admitted. “I just remember my wife being alive. Not that I was seeing anyone, especially an American.  What do you know of my personal life in the last five years?”

“Mother was very concerned about you, as you took Irina’s death to heart.  You seemed to have forgotten how to laugh. You were very grim, especially with this assignment.  But the last few months, you would make little asides to me which were very funny. It started after you began tutoring her daughter, I was happy because you seemed… as though you had decided to rid yourself of your mourning clothes and rejoin humanity.”

“Would you know if she and I…” Chekov blushed and ceased talking, but fortunately Olen’ka knew what he meant.

“I don’t know because you rarely spoke of your personal life to me once I became your assistant,” Olga advised. “On a professional note, their general…. You didn’t distrust him, but I do not think you trusted him like you do Volkov.”

Chekov closed his eyes and thought.

“Colonel?” his aide whispered.

“Go to Dima. Give him my journal. He will know what to do and will advise you if you can go to the American General with our concerns about Kharitonov. I cannot advise you because I am a liability. Be careful, котенок. You are in treacherous waters, do not drown. I’ll pretend to be unconscious and of no use to the Americans and to dear Colonel **_Kharitonov_**.”

Chekov smiled. “Now I will pretend to be sleeping. God be with you. Protecting our people is our goal.”

“No, it’s always been the world for you, Colonel. Not just Russia,” his assistant reminded him.

* * *

 

Chekov’s brief meeting with his aide had exhausted him, as he was drowsy and quiet as SG4 transferred him to the stretcher.   Then with a brisk military efficiency, they gently placed the Colonel into the ambulance without jarring him.

“Seriously,” the Army medic whispered to Janet Fraiser. “Those are two big boys on that team. I think one of them could have put the Colonel into the ambulance by himself.”

“Just be glad that they’re willing to help. Chekov isn’t the most pleasant of souls to begin with, and I’m sure a third degree Concussion is making him crankier than his norm.”

‘I’ve heard,” the medic whispered. “I’ll avoid the potholes as much as I can.”

“Thank you,” Janet sincerely stated.  She was helped into the rig’s jump seat and she looked away from Chekov’s IV to see an odd scene… a concerned appearing Alekseyeva giving Volkov a small book which Volkov slipped into his jacket pocket. Volkov nodded his head and two turned away from each other, acting as though whatever had happened, hadn’t.

She pondered over what she had seen, when she felt Chekov tap her hand.

“Do you speak Russian?” he asked.  Chekov spoke slower than his norm and his accent was quite pronounced.

“A little,” she admitted.

“English is difficult for me… now… to translate to and from… hurts my brain. Volkov or Alekseyeva can translate if necessary. I trust them,” Chekov explained.    

“Yes, I understand,” she stated in Russian.

“Your accent is… fair,” he mentioned.  “You need to sound like you’re cursing.”

Janet softly laughed, and then explained to her patient, “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“You have the advantage of me, I am afraid.”

 

 


	10. 10

After Chekov was moved to a private medical suite in the base, Hammond decided it behooved him to visit him. Quickly though, as Fraiser was looking particularly fierce after he received her permission for a brief chat.

He found the battered Chekov in a hospital bed in a dimly lit hospital room. The Colonel was clad in hospital garb, probably the first time Hammond had ever seen him out of uniform. His eyes were closed, but he was awake, as each finger on his right hand was repetitively touching his right thumb as he was working to maintain mobility in his hand.  To Hammond’s rather amused surprise, there was a large fruit basket on the colonel’s night stand along with a vase full of sunflowers. Each sunflower had been meticulously given a set of google eyes (complete with eyelashes) and a bright red pipe cleaner smile. It seemed Jack O’Neill, while promising to behave around the Russian Colonel, had still decided to be **_himself_**.

Baby steps, Hammond thought. Baby steps.

Colonel Volkov was sitting next to Chekov’s bed and he stood when he realized General Hammond was in the room.

“Colonel Chekov, General Hammond is here to see you,” Volkov announced.

Chekov opened his eyes, well, the one that wasn’t swollen shut and struggled into a sitting position. Volkov jumped in and began propping him up with assorted pillows even though Hammond protested that he’d prefer if Chekov remained comfortable opposed to being presentable.

“General Hammond, how are you?”  Chekov asked. His voice was slower than his norm, the accent more pronounced as though he was learning to speak English anew.  “My apologies, I’m keeping the room dark. Helps my eyes. Have some fruit, your Colonel O’Neill dropped it off.”

“No thank you,” Hammond politely declined.

Chekov spoke to Volkov in Russian, Volkov barked a laugh and then Volkov nodded his head.

“The Colonel extends his apologies. He’s finding conversing in English to be quite taxing so he asked me to translate.  He says he’s not sure if the fruit is safe as O’Neill delivered it so he’s not eating it. While he doesn’t have the pleasure of remembering O’Neill, he did not trust his amused look.”

“I rather doubt Colonel O’Neill would try to poison you, annoy you, yes, but not poison,” Hammond mock protested. “How are you feeling, Colonel?”

He spoke directly to Chekov and received this in response.

“Eto escho tsvetochki, a yagodki vperedi. Vremya — luchshiy doktor.”

 “The Colonel said, ‘These are just flowers; berries will come soon,’.  In other words, he will be worse before he gets better. Also, time is the best healer, so he is being pragmatic though he is a significant amount of pain.”

“If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know, Colonel. Now get some sleep,” Hammond informed the Russian Colonel before he left the room.  “Colonel Volkov, I believe Dr. Fraiser wished to check on Colonel Chekov.”

“I will request Lt. Beliova sit in. We’re keeping someone with the Colonel that will be able to translate for him.”

Hammond nodded as he realized that SG4 was not translating for Chekov, but instead promoting a sense of familiarity and constant for the amnesiac Chekov.  Thankfully, Chekov remembered that the Cold War had ended else the situation would have been even more convoluted. “Next time you decide to break a car window to save someone’s life, use your keys, not your elbow? That’s an order.”

“He tried to use his head after he broke his elbow, but evidence proves that his head isn’t as hard as we believed,” offered Volkov.

Chekov shot him a look that could only be declared as blistering.

Hammond wisely left the Russian version of Abbott and Costello. After Hammond exited, Chekov sat up straight without the benefit of pillows. His world rotated on its axis and he had to swallow quickly to prevent himself from vomiting. “Kharitonov is due when again?”

Volkov leaned towards Chekov. The cameras, such as it was, would show them talking, yes, but hopefully they wouldn’t hear their whispered Russian.

“Eight hours. He’s scheduled to meet with Hammond for a brief chat soon as he arrives. I should be able to get you dressed and presentable.  I have reached someone who was interested to find out that Kharitonov has been sent here and he demanded a meeting. We need to buy some time so Kharitonov can be recalled. Your journal was quite informative, especially about Kharitonov and his dislike of Hammond. It would akin to Hiroshima to put those two in the same room.”

“Interesting, Kharitonov wasn’t mentioned by Hammond. There are so many possible reasons why he didn’t mention it, but yet he didn’t mention it. Kharitonov is dangerous at the best of times, now he has the potential to cause the planet to burn,” Chekov mumbled.  “What’s happened to him in the last five years? Gotten any smarter?”

“Got married again.” Volkov, being married for many, many happy years to the same woman, couldn’t hide his scorn.

“Again? What is that… his fifth wife? Did she escape from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea so she thought marriage to him was an improvement?” Chekov closed his eyes and exhaled. “Very well, as a sign of good will plus congratulations on getting married again, give him the poisoned fruit basket.”

* * *

 

Janet Fraiser knocked before entering the room.  To her surprise, Chekov was alone, without any member of SG4. He was sitting up in the bed, but his eyes were closed. His head was bowed and his left hand was covering his good eye.

“Lieutenant, you don’t have to knock. You assured me you’d be back in a moment with my tea,” was his soft response.

“I did **_not_** give you permission for tea,” Dr. Fraiser stated. “I specifically told you **_no_** caffeine as you have a concussion. Do you remember that, Colonel?”

Chekov opened his eyes, and sighed. “No, unlike much of the last five years, I did not forget that. I just chose to ignore it.”

Janet Fraiser couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

“Well, least you’re still the Colonel Chekov I know,” was Janet’s retort.  “I’m here to do a quick check up on you. If you behave, I might… MIGHT let you have a sip or two of your tea.   I’ll even turn a blind eye on you adding sugar to your tea in the **_traditional_** way instead of the politically correct manner.”

On the night of his accident, Chekov had requested his tea be made very strong as he was exhausted.  Then due to the strength of the tea, he had sipped his tea through a sugar cube. Janet had eavesdropped when he had told Cassandra that when he was dealing with those crazy Americans and various officials, he had to drop the cube into the tea, as he couldn’t drink his tea the way he preferred, as they’d view him as a barbarian.

No response, instead he blinked his good eye and wiped it with his fingers.

“Colonel Chekov? How are you doing?”  Janet softly questioned.

“I have lost five years of my life and my wife is **_dead_**. I am not doing well, not doing at all well,” Chekov confessed. “I am **_angry_**. I am **_furious_**. My heart has been **_ripped_** open.”

He made a savage motion towards his chest. “You seem… surprised…by my grief. Dr. Fraiser. I am Russian. I am not heartless.”

Guided by instinct, Janet reached for his good hand and squeezed it.

“You…” She paused, and then hesitantly, “You spoke rarely of your wife, but the few times you did… it was obvious to me how much you still cared for her.”

An abrupt head nod was his response. She permitted him a moment to recover his composure as she made a fuss of his vitals.

“Now I need ask you a few questions to see how you are doing,” she explained. “There will be a neurologist in to see you shortly but I want a baseline. Name and rank, please.”

“I have been told that I now a Colonel. So Colonel Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov is my name and rank.”

She ran through the various questions, marked down what ones he would answer in English, the few that he answered in Russian and the dozen or so that he just couldn’t answer.  Reflexes were checked and then she nodded her head.

“You were a very good Colonel, so I will permit you **_one_** cup of tea.” She turned to leave, but he reached for her hand once more.

“I am very grateful for the care and kindness you have given me, for I am a stranger in a strange land,” he stated. Formally, in Russian, to boot.  Then in English, “Is it permitted for you to tell me how well I knew you? I know much is being kept from me.”

Janet debated for a moment, and decided to tell Chekov a half-truth.  “You and I met outside of work at restaurant one night, accidentally. I had my daughter with me.  To make a long story short, you were tutoring my daughter in physics recently. You were friendly with Cassie, not so much with me.  At work, you only talked to me when you required Tylenol,” Janet explained.

“Please apologize to your daughter, I fear that I will be unable to assist her in her physics,” he stated.

“Cassie’s more worried about you than physics.”

“Please assure her that I appreciate her concern but schoolwork is very important,” slowly stated Chekov. “Is there anyone who can help her? Her father?”

“She’s an orphan,” Janet paused, wondered how much she could tell Chekov, and again erred on the side of caution. “I adopted her a few years ago, it’s just me and Cassie.  She’s taking college level physics right now and she needs someone with more patience than me.”

“It’s rough, not having a father,” Chekov admitted.

The door opened and Lt. Beliova entered, realized that she was caught with the contraband tea and then she grimaced. Even among SG4, Janet Fraiser’s reputation was formidable.

“Colonel Chekov can have one cup of tea today, and by that I mean, **_one_** cup. Do not keep refilling it from the samovar, and its diluted ratio is four parts water to one part concentrated tea.  Empty that half way and fill it up with hot water. He can have two sugar cubes and… what’s this?” Janet pointed at a small piece of cake.

“A piece of Kiev Cake?” the Lt. hesitantly offered. “For his tea. One can’t just have a cup of tea.”

“Volkov’s wife is quite the baker. From what I remember,” Chekov offered. “Did she…”

“Yes, she made it for SG4. It’s like being home again. I could bring you a piece, Doctor?” Beliova asked.  Her blatant hope for a reprieve was almost comical.

“Tomorrow, Lt. Beliova, you will meet with me at nine in the morning to discuss Colonel Chekov’s tea habits. Is that **_understood_**?” Janet questioned.

“Yes, Ma’am,” was Chekov’s response. He pointed his finger, “Make sure you bring her a piece of cake.”

* * *

 

Having escaped that, Janet Fraiser decided she needed to speak with SGC’s resident headshrinker, James MacKenzie for a chance to realign and refocus. Oh, who the hell was she kidding?  She needed to bitch.

Mack was delighted to see her and he offered her a seat. They were longtime friends prior to working together at the SGC, and had further bonded over the fact that they were the ONLY sane people working at the SGC. (Hammond being quasi accepted as a potential candidate for inclusion.) Mack had also helped Cassie adjust to her new life, and had kept in touch with her daughter over the years, offering a friendly ear when she needed it, opposed to being an ‘official meeting’.

“Good, I’m glad you stopped by. I desired to talk to you in reference to our Russian Colonel and Cassie. I called her, hope you’re ok with that? I just wanted to touch base with her. I know from my conversations with Cassie that Chekov has taken an avuncular interest in her and they’re close. She has experienced a great deal of loss in her life and…”

“Just spill it, Mackie,” Janet protested.

“Cassie wants to visit Colonel Chekov. She feels very guilty about him being in the car accident. I reminded her that Chekov being involved in the accident helped save people’s lives.  Did you see the latest on KCNC? The van driver that helped at the accent scene is a retired Air Force Mssgt.  We’re talking Cold War era retiree, and then the fact that Chekov’s a Russian Air Force Colonel? The last interview ended with the Mssgt wanting to buy Chekov a beer.  Or a vodka. Plus there was that one lady with three kids….Well, I digress, sorry. Needless to say our Russian Colonel is being declared a Big American Hero by KCNC.”

“No, I haven’t seen any of it,” Janet confessed.

“Janet… what’s your assessment of Chekov right now?” Mack asked. He leaned back in his chair and pretended that it was a friendly conversation.

“He’s grieving for his wife,” was all Janet would first admit. Then after a long pause, she added, “He’s in the angry stage. He didn’t even hit the denial stage because it was Volkov who informed him of her death.”

“What did you tell him about your relationship with him?” was the next intent question.

“Mackie, we never did the horizontal Lezgian,” Janet protested. At the shrink’s confused expression, Janet added, “We never had sex, Mackie. There was no physical relationship, so I just told him that we didn’t really talk. I mean, he’s ripped apart of his wife’s death, how do I tell him that we had a mild flirtation over the last few months? He had told me that it was the most he’s done since his wife died, so I just couldn’t tell him.”

Mack exhaled and rubbed his eyes.

“Janet, he doesn’t know about Sergei Ivanov, Alexi Zukov, Sergei Vallarin and Vitaly Marchenko. Volkov reached out to me because he’s not sure how Chekov will react to their deaths on top of his wife’s death.  I mean, how do we cushion the blow?  Volkov, Chekov, Zukov, Marchenko and another officer, Alekseyev, were tight as thieves. Alekseyev died in a training accident, so Chekov and the rest embraced his daughter, Lt. Alekseyeva as their adoptive niece.”

“He was curious about Cassie’s father,” Janet admitted. “I glossed over the fact that she’s an extraterrestrial, but I mentioned that I had adopted her.”

“Russian psychology is not my strong point. But Cassie really seemed to have connected with him. It might be good if she visits him. For both of them,” Mack decided. “Talk to Volkov, get his insight. Volkov’s worried that Chekov might slip back into being the old grieving Chekov. After his wife died, Chekov was… angry; very, very angry.”

* * *

 

Cassie had been warned, repeatedly, to be careful when she visited Chekov. He didn’t remember her, didn’t remember how she called him Misha, didn’t know about his relationship with her mom and most assuredly didn’t remember how Cassie had set in motion the events that had led to his injury.   She had practiced her greetings and how to act while Sam drove her to the mountain.

She knocked on Chekov’s door and heard ‘Enter’ and so she did. He was standing by his bed, and he gave her a warm smile when she entered.  Chekov… Misha… was wearing dark sunglasses to hide the worst of the damage. He still appeared as though he had been beaten but still he stood.

“Hello, Cassandra. It is kind of you to come see your tutor who, as you can, see is not at his best. We will be having tea as you are visiting.  Well, you will be having tea.  I will be relegated to having water as your mother is quite fierce. However, there will be… **_cake_**.”

He was pretending that he was fine, just for her. Cassie’s composure broke and she impulsively hugged him. Her embrace startled him, but he soon returned it.

“Oh, Misha, it’s all my fault. All my fault, I’m so sorry,” she wept.

“Little pisicuţă, do not worry. It is not your fault. Your Misha bear will be fine. I assure you.”


	11. 11

Dr. Fraiser’s daughter wished to visit him.  Chekov hadn’t agreed at first, because well, he didn’t remember her.

However his assistant, Lt. Alekseyeva, had guilted him into permitting a quick ten minute visit by quietly commenting that he had been rather fond of the teenager and had spoken quite highly of her. (Really, he was the Colonel, supposedly, and she was the lieutenant. So who ordered who about? She did). Since he was Russian, and Cassandra…. **_Cassie_** … was a visitor, an underage visitor at that, it behooved him to keep decorum maintained. So yes, he managed to get out of his hospital scrubs and into his uniform, though Volkov had been roped into assisting him. He couldn’t ask his aide-de-camp to help him with his trousers, after all.

Volkov decided he needed to wear sunglasses to hide the worst of the damage to his face.   Then because Chekov was hosting and once again, standards must be maintained among the American Cowboys (and Cowgirls), Chekov requested Alekseyeva procure tea for him and Cassie.

“I will acquire something sweet for the American. However, the Colonel gets water,” his aide explained to a grinning Volkov after Chekov was dressed and shaved.  “He had one cup of tea already today. That is all he is permitted.”

“Water?” Chekov sputtered. “ ** _Water_**?”

“Or milk,” Alekseyeva primly stated.  “It’s good for healing bones.”

“Vodka! It’s clear, they’re Americans, they’re never know,” he protested.

“NYET,” she shouted over Volkov’s laughter.

He winced, as her yell had made his head hurt.

“Colonel Chekov, my father would want me to take of you,” she said, as she pulled out the guilt card as he and her father had been brothers-in-arms. “So sit in your bed until she comes. Then when she knocks, you can stand to greet her. Please don’t overexert yourself. Do this for me. Please, Colonel?”

Really, she’d make General before she was forty.

* * *

 

Cassie knocked on Chekov’s door so he told her to ‘Enter’. He was standing by his bed, and he gave her a warm smile when she entered.  Hopefully, she would jar a memory or two loose because he knew there was much that Volkov and Alekseyeva weren’t telling him.   They hadn’t given him a straight answer on Zukov or Marchenko, which wasn’t a good sign.

Naturally, he didn’t recognize her.  Nothing, nothing at all, but the hopeful look on her face made him realize that for whatever reason, this young American had cared, deeply, for the Russian Bear.   Ah, he and Irishka had never been blessed with children, but they had seemingly been adopted by a few strays over the years. It was just that Cassie was an…

 ** _American_**.

His wife was merrily laughing, Misha knew. However, he smiled again, and focused on appearing, healthy.

“Hello, Cassandra. It is kind of you to come see your tutor who, as you can, see is not at his best. We will be having tea as you are visiting.  Well, you will be having tea.  I will be relegated to having water as your mother is quite fierce. However, there will be…  _ **cake**_.”

Cassie’s composure broke and she impulsively hugged him. Her embrace startled him, but he soon returned it.

“Oh, Misha, it’s all my fault. All my fault, I’m so sorry,” she wept.

Cassie’s tear soaked his shirt, so he carefully pushed her away.  He smiled again at her and brushed the hair out of her eyes.   “Little pisicuţă, do not worry. It is not your fault. Your Misha bear will be fine. I assure you.”

That earned him another embrace. She painfully tightened it for just a moment and then she pulled away from him.

“You called me pisicuţă,” she happily exclaimed. “You used to call me that when I did well on your quizzes.”

“It’s Romanian,” he explained. Needlessly, it turned out.

“Yes, your babushka was Romanian. Do you remember calling me pisicuţă?” Cassie hopefully asked.

Damn him for a fool, having only known her for a few minutes, (this time), he found himself instinctively liking her.  He hated disappointing her but yet he couldn’t lie to her.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “Though it suits you.”

Because the child was honest and open.

“May I still call you Misha? Or should I call you Colonel, as you don’t remember me?” Cassie softly questioned. “I was so hoping that you’d remember me.”

“Pisicuţă, no matter what happens, I will always be **_your_** Misha,” he assured her which earned him another hug. He tried not to wince but he was pretty banged up.

“Promise me when you remember everything you won’t be angry with me,” she requested. “It’s my fault that you were out in the bad weather.”

“Cassie, you need to understand something. You call me Misha, you don’t call me Colonel or Mikhail Kirillovich. **_Misha_**.  I called you Cassie, and sometimes I called you Kitten. It means that we are good friends, just right now I do not have the pleasure of remembering our friendship. How is school? Doing well in physics, I hope?”  When she didn’t say anything, he gestured. “Please sit, I cannot sit until you do.

Thank God, she sat as he was feeling very dizzy and headachy.  With prompting, she chatted like a magpie while he nodded as appropriate.   He had interrogated prisoners once in his career, so he carefully guided her with certain questions. Nothing about the American military, but more about her, his relationship with her and a few questions about her mother.  Janet Fraiser, **_Enigma_**.

Occasionally, he took a sip of **_water_** and wished for tea.

Desperately.

Or Vodka.

* * *

 

Sam had brought Cassie to the mountain for a quick ten minute visit with Chekov.  Naturally, because it was the SGC, Janet lost track of time. She looked at her watch and realized that Cassie was overdue in returning to her office.

Well, it wasn’t a major concern. Hopefully. Probably Cassie had gotten sidetracked (Jack O’Neill) and waylaid (Jack O’Neill) but she had a sneaking suspicion there was Trouble – that began with T and rhymed with C and that stood for CHEKOV.

She left her office and guided by instinct, she found herself in the cafeteria. A sunglass wearing Chekov… In UNIFORM…. CHEKOV…. DRINKING TEA….  Violating every single instruction she had given him.

Oh, he was a **_dead_** man.

“Dr. Fraiser,” he jovially greeted her. “Would you care for a cup of tea? I am quite enjoying this cup.”

She drew herself to all five feet two inches of her and glared up at the Russian Colonel.  The two formidable foes engaged, and the battle began. 

Naturally, he didn’t take her seriously, because he was male, because he was Russian.

At one point, she was so unbelievably angry that she couldn’t say a single word. Instead, she looked up at him and if she had the power to mentally murder him where he stood, he would have been **_dead_**.  Didn’t he realize that he was risking his HEALTH?

He looked down at her, and his amused expression faded. Quickly. Instead, he appeared… **_uncertain_** and he put down his barely sipped tea.

“I have angered you again,” he quietly stated in a far cry from his normal Chekov Volume.  No, it was almost as soft as when he gently refused her drunken advances. “Doctor, I just wished for a cup of tea. One cup only. No more. I will return back to medical with all due haste. I will follow your instructions to letter, Doctor.”

Leaving Janet happy yet uneasy about her victory.  What the hell had just happened?

Chekov’s little excursion to the cafeteria had somehow caused additional paperwork to appear on her desk, and so she sent Cassie home with Samantha.

“I’ll be home soon,” she assured her daughter.  “Promise.”

* * *

 

Janet had just filed her next to final report when the door to her office opened.  It was CHEKOV. The only thing that saved his life from immediate extinction was the fact that he was tea-less.

“Hello, Doctor,” was all Chekov said after she finally acknowledged that he was standing in her office.   She had to count to one hundred twice before she permitted herself to acknowledge him.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Janet snapped. “You’re supposed to be in bed, resting, Colonel Chekov. I thought you had promised to behave.”

Chekov ignored her as he carefully sat down in the chair opposite her desk. He was cautious in how he sat as he didn’t wish to jar his elbow.

“I….needed…. to talk to you.  You… haven’t stopped in…. to see me…” he slowly offered.

“I see you multiple times a day,” was her quick retort.

“Always with someone… l need to apologize….” He explained.  “I’m …. Exceedingly sorry about what happened.”

“Well, you were a difficult patient in the beginning, now go back to bed, so it’s all forgiven. However final warning, based on how you continue to hop out of bed, I will restrain you the next time I see you out of bed. And you will have no more tea today or tomorrow. No Caffeine. _None_. No trips to the cafeteria. You will go to your bed and remain there.”

“Not that…” he protested.

“Then what then?” Janet asked, as she truly had no idea.

Why the hell was he wearing the sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes?  This conversation was making no sense …. Except…. If … dear God … **_no_** … his memory was coming back.  Yes, she wanted his memory to return, but could God maybe erase that little part of her attempting to seduce him?

“I wept…. For a woman who has been dead for five years…. I apologize I did not mean to be…cruel ….I pray that I did not upset you, but I believe I must have. You were so angry about the tea, so I fear it was not just the tea that caused your anger.” He paused and then slowly exhaled. 

“You didn’t remember what your wife died, Colonel. I’m sure it was very traumatic to be informed that it had happened, along with losing five years of your life. **_Temporarily_**. I fully anticipate that you will make a full recovery. Now, please go back to bed.”

Silence, and she returned back to her paperwork.

“How long were we lovers? Will you not tell me? Or will you keep it from me as though you are ashamed?” Chekov softly questioned after a long silence. “I think maybe… less than a year. I haven’t been assigned here as the liaison for very long. It would have taken time and a great deal of effort for Mishka the Russian Bear to woo you. I have never been… _charming_ …”

“I’m afraid that you are mistaken. We weren’t,” Janet easily stated. “You tutored Cassie in physics.”

“We **_were_**. You slipped, Zhannochka.  You called a man uncontrollably weeping for his long dead wife by a pet name that only his lover would use. You called me **_Mishka._** ”

“I slipped. I heard Colonel Volkov call you Misha, and I mispronounced it,” she lied.

“Ah, that does make sense, and it even explains your kind note with the samovar.  An antique **_TULA_** samovar, with **_Keeum_** Mao Fang Hao Ya A tea leaves and sugar cubes. The samovar and the tea leaves of the highest quality, and you know my preference for sugar cubes.   Your note meant something to me as I kept it as a bookmark in my journal. You addressed the note to **_Mishka_**. If we were not physical lovers, we were dancing very close to it.”

Janet shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

“Ah,” was all he said. After a long pause, he softly continued, “I believe I mentioned that I journal? When I’m on these assignments, I journal in that country’s language. It helps me converse in all times in a foreign language. It might surprise you that I am quite verbose in my writings.”

Long pause. Then there a glimmer of the Chekov that formerly conversed with her when he added a very dry, “Or maybe not.”

Janet placed her pen on the desk and looked up at him.  He was holding a small brown leather journal, its cover distressed and worn smooth by age.  “Zhanna, I had time to read it, and it confirmed many things for me.  I never liked O’Neill, and the feeling was mutual. So glad that I gave away his fruit basket.”

Brief smile.

“And that I appreciated your forthrightness.”

He slid the book into his sling and then smiled once again. It was more of a hint of a smile as he struggled to stand.

“Zhanna, I am exhausted. Physically, I hurt. Mentally, I know my wife has been dead for over five years, emotionally the wound has ripped open anew. I lack the energy to explore why you are lying to me, Zhanna. Perhaps not. However, I felt that you should know… if you hadn’t been drunk, I would have agreed to your kind offer as I am… **_lonely_** … during my holidays. Though that was not the only reason.”

Chekov chuckled, a soft laugh directed towards himself. “I do fear that I would have embarrassed myself with a young man’s desire in old man’s body, so for my self-esteem, it is very good that it did not happen between us. I was surprised… because I wanted it so much. I had convinced myself… that… those particular urges were long buried. I would have been… mortified…to be that close… and…to disappoint you. As I told you, I have not been close to anyone since my wife’s death.”

“You’re writing fiction, Colonel,” protested Janet.

“No, I didn’t write any of this in my journal. Veshat lapshu na ushi,” he stated.

“I beg your pardon?” Janet asked. “I’m not sure what you just said. Did you mention **_noodles_**?”

He extended his left hand. “Zhanna, I thank you for your kindness and the tea. I don’t remember… everything… but please accept my invitation to have tea if you are ever in Russia. I owe you hospitality for your cordiality in opening your home and your heart to a very lonely soul.”

Janet extended her hand, and he held it for just a moment. To her deep surprise, he kissed it and then released it.

“Be well. One day I hope you will understand and forgive me for mentioning her so often to you. Her death… it… destroyed… me,” he slowly admitted.  He waited for a minute in silence, and then left.

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Colonel Kharitonov arrived at the SGC, complete with a small entourage, and George Hammond took an immediate dislike to the man.  The personally enigmatic Chekov would look him in the eye and tell him very firmly ‘ ** _Nyet’_** , while the jovial Kharitonov reminded Hammond of a snake.  Sly, crafty, charming and quite willing to bite you when you least anticipated it.  They exchanged pleasantries and then after the Russians’s departure, George did a quick count to ensure that Kharitonov had left him all ten fingers and toes.

It was only after George sat at this desk did he realize that his Cross pen had disappeared.

He was rummaging through his office in a futile attempt to locate the Air Force Blue pen that HIS daughters have given him when he made his first star, when Siler interrupted him.

“Sir, the Russians Colonels are brawling in Conference Room Bravo. Major Carter has security heading there, but she suggested I get you.”

At last count, there were at least three Russian Colonels in the base, (though they seemed to multiplying faster than a group of fornicating Soviet Chinchilla Rabbits) so really Hammond couldn’t be blamed for asking **_which_** Russian Colonels were brawling.

Well, besides, Kharitonov.

* * *

 

“What happened?” Hammond asked as he and Siler jogged towards the Conference Room. 

“Don’t know exactly. Harriman has pulled the tapes from the conference room and he’s trying to separate the voices.  SG4 faced the wall and they began singing “The Cossack Rides over the Dunai” loudly and very off key. Plus the three tallest members deliberately positioned themselves to block the cameras. From the little Russian I know… Kharitonov made a very rude comment, Volkov went ballistic and Chekov attempted to separate them. Punches started getting thrown then and Carter wanted you notified immediately.”

“What did he say?” Hammond asked.

“Ask if Chekov was enjoying rolling on his belly for you?  It was a bit cruder than that, actually.”

Sometimes, Hammond wished he was still that sparky young Lt. Hammond. Not only did he have a full head of hair then, he could probably punch Kharitonov without risking an international incident. Sometimes being a General, was a general pain in the ass.

However, he would admit only to himself that he hoped Chekov landed at least one punch on the slighter Kharitonov.  It would akin to a heavyweight boxer taking on a bantam weight, and he had the feeling that Chekov was a barroom brawler.

* * *

 

Dima went for Kharitonov’s throat after Kharitonov made disparaging comment about Chekov being Hammond’s resident in house fucker. The conversation went steadily downhill from there as it seemed that Kharitonov’s sponsors believed that Chekov was just giving up **_everything_** to the Americans. The nuclear codes, the Krelim, the **_Hermitage_** (Never!) and his ass.  Oh God no! Not that he had anything against that type of relationship, but the widowed Hammond simply wasn’t his type.

Really, brawling was such an **_American_** way of handling things, so he was glad that SG4 took the initiative to face the wall and miss what was about to unfurl. However, he could really have done without them loudly bellowing “The Cossack Rides over the Danube” as only Beliova could carry a tube in a bucket with handles.  As much as it pained Chekov to admit, Olga did not inherit her father’s musical ability. Why were they singing a Ukrainian song about death, anyway? There had to be at least one happy Russian Folk song that they could sing loudly and offkey in Russian? Da?

 _Cossack ride for the Danube_  
He said: “My Sweetheart, good bye!”  
Riding the horse,  
And go forward.”

“Gentleman,” he stated as he stupidly decided to stand between two of them in the hopes of preventing the situation from escalating.  It was the only word he managed to voice as Kkaritonov’s punch hit him dead center under his chin.

 _“Wait, wait, Cossack,_  
your girlfriend is crying,  
How can you leave her,  
Just think about it.”

There were **_stars_**. A great many **_stars_** , a galaxy worth of stars, over the banks of the Danube River, and he saw his _Irishka_ shaking her head at his sheer stupidity.

 _Maybe, maybe it’s better not to leave,_  
Maybe, maybe it’s better not to love,  
Maybe, maybe it’s better not to know each other  
And now, and now is time to forget each other.

 _“My death has made you **stupid** , Mishka,” _she tartly informed him. _“Or you trying to impress Zhanna with how hard your head is? Perhaps flowers would work better, no?”_

 _“Irishka, I still love you. I think of you every day. Do you believe me?”_ he pleaded.                                           

Her face soften into the smile that made him fall in love with her.

_“I love you too.”_

* * *

“Code Red 2 Conference Room Bravo. Code Red 2 Conference Room Bravo,” Harriman announced even as Hammond and Siler arrived on Level 27.  The code was reserved for a rapid medical response to on base incident which meant that one (if not more) of the battling Russian colonels was in need of medical assistance.

As he entered the room, he heard Colonel Volkov yelling at Chekov, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

A sitting Chekov was intently focusing on Volkov’s right hand, on which three fingers were raised. The Colonel appeared confused as he slowly counted and then recounted.

“Dima? I did not realized that you had such a case of polydactylism.”

“How many fingers?” Volkov repeated.

“ ** _Nineteen_** ,” Chekov stated in true amazement. “You have more arms than Nataraja! They didn’t do surgery for that?”

Christ, Chekov was seeing at least double, if not quadruple if he was comparing Volkov to the Indian Lord of the Dance. Great, Hammond thought. It was a big box of paperwork that will have to be submitted to General Jumper type day. Please don't let it escalate to command performance in front of Jump. 

“Misha, my brother. It’s time for you to return back to Medical,” Volkov informed Chekov.  Volkov gestured and Chekov was assisted to his feet by two very large Rusian SG4 team members.

“Must I?” Chekov’s whine was plaintive.  “Can I just not return to my quarters?  A cup of tea would make everything so much better. Just don’t tell Fraiser.”

“Do not worry, Dr. Fraiser will take good care of you,” Volkov assured him.

“She’ll try to kill me,” Chekov slurred. “She wishes me dead. Quite dead. Her dislike for me is obvious. She is a friend of O’Neill. He hates me, wishes me dead. He sent me a fruit basket that had a kiwi in it. He knew I was allergic to it. She must have told him.”

“Nonsense. That’s your scrambled brain talking, Misha.  She is our angel of mercy,” Volkov cheerily assured a disbelieving Chekov. “Ah, I see the medical team is here to take care of Colonel Kharitonov. It is a shame that he tripped and knocked himself out cold.”

Oh yes, Hammond had quite forgotten about Kharitonov, who was slumped, unresponsive, in a corner.  It seemed that everyone had overlooked Kharitonov also, as SG4 hovered by Chekov. 

Hammond glared at Volkov, and then barked, “Do you think this is my first rodeo?”

“I do not know how a cowboy rodeo corresponds to this. Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain it to me after I take care of Chekov. Lt. Beliova will tell you everything that happened,” Volkov assured him.  “Chekov needs to return back to medical. The excitement over seeing his good friend Kharitonov has rescrambled his brains, I am afraid.”

Volkov smiled, a bright wide smile.

“Colonel Chekov, can you confirm that Colonel Kharitonov tripped?” Hammond asked.

“I’m afraid that I have amnesia. I have no idea,” Chekov dryly admitted.  While normally someone staring over his head would convince Hammond that the speaker was lying, Chekov seemed dazed.  And he kept mentioning **_KIWIS_**.

 ** _RUSSIANS_**!

Life was bad enough having one O’Neill. Now the Russians were trying to out O’Neill  **_O’NEILL._**

 “Lieutenant, did the Colonel truly trip?”  He narrowed his glare at the young Russian.

“Yes!  Colonel Chekov tried to prevent him from falling but he ended up reinjuring himself. Also, General? Is this your pen?” Beliova asked, as she oh so helpfully pointed out an Air Force Blue Cross pen that was on the table.

Ok, he’d agree that Kharitonov tripped.

* * *

 

Fraiser was stunned into speechlessness when she realized that Chekov had returned back to Medical Bay… not under his own power, but instead being supported by Lt. Kravchenko.  Then her normal non-flappable nature returned when she quickly assessed the fact that Chekov was a **_patient_**.

“Keep the Colonel upright for a moment, please,” she stated.  “Can you tell me what happened? Tell me what happened, none of what you’re telling Hammond, don’t give me that… **_отстой_** – I need the truth. Though from the bruise on his chin, I think he was brawling.”

“She speaks Russian?” Krachenko commented to Volkov. Naturally in Russian.

“Yes, she does,” Janet snapped even as she grabbed a large bore needle and some meds.  With a rather vindictive smile, (though for a sound medical reason as she knew she’d have to send Chekov for a cat scan and she didn’t trust that he’d stay on the damn table the way he was acting) she jabbed Chekov in his gluteus maximus through his uniform pants.  To her disappointment, he didn’t vocalize any discomfort after being dosed with valium.

Petty, but sometimes a girl just had to do what a girl had to do.

“Bed two. Colonel Volkov, what happened?”

“He tried to separate Kharitonov and myself. Karitonov punched him rather hard and he’s been a bit confused since then.”

 ** _Wonderful_**.

“Ok, we’ll need a set of facial xrays plus c-spine. Tell them to fire up the cat scan also,” Janet informed her staff.

* * *

 

Kharitonov was packed up and shipped out before the day was out. The **_official_** reason was that he was recalled for additional instructions. Whatever the reason, everyone was quite delighted to see him leave, including Hammond who confirmed that he had both his Cross pen and pencil set before the Colonel left the base.

It mattered not to Janet. She was focused on her patient and she had suspected, Chekov had re-aggravated his concussion plus had added a case of whiplash.

Fortunately, he was now able to answer important issues correctly and in English, unlike several days earlier.

During their physician-patient interactions, Colonel Chekov returned to being the picture perfect, stolid Russian.  Gone were the comical asides, the dry quips, the deliberately pointed finger of doom and the crooked, self-deprecating smile. Instead, he was back to the Russian Bear who had first arrived at the mountain. Polite, quiet, reticent but with the 100% chance of thunder and lightning if provoked.

Well in his defense, he was now restricted to Med Bay as he couldn’t be trusted in his quarters, had no shoes and his clothing considered of two hospital gowns (front and back) that barely concealed the essentials (his boxers) and his nanny bracelet which would inform Janet if he misbehaved.

“How’s your pain?” She asked on one of her daily rounds. Janet disapprovingly noticed that he had refused pain medications each time he had been asked.

“It’s manageable, Doctor.”  

“The pain medication will do you no good if you don’t take it,” she protested.

“I’d prefer to have my wits intact.”

“Can you please sit up and turn towards me?” was her next question.

Chekov did so, and she noticed that he grimaced when he pivoted. Plus, he touched his right temple briefly. This was new, as normally he was more concerned about covering his essentials with his blanket.

“Headache?” she prompted.

“Yes,” was the soft confession. “Very bad.”

Thanks to her finely tuned Spidey Sense, she realized that Chekov was about to hurl.  She wouldn’t get points for gracefulness, but the wastepaper basket got there just in time. He threw up his breakfast, his toenails, his left kidney, what might have been a left over part of the Stargate, and then the nonstop dry heaving started.

Janet snapped orders for various medications and her nurses quickly responded.

“I’d like to lie down, please,” he finally whispered once he stopped power puking. “I feel… dizzy. It’s very bright in here.”

Her staff helped adjust him back into the bed, and once he was reclining back in his bed, he closed his eyes.  He was in a great deal of pain as he didn’t try to cover himself. Not that he was displaying anything but he was always one for propriety.

“Colonel, I’m starting an IV in your left hand. I want to give you some medication for your migraine.” Plus something for pain, his insomnia and his nausea.  It would be a potent little cocktail that would knock the good Colonel on his ass and hopefully put him into a deep restorative sleep.

“I want to go home,” he mumbled in Russia. “Christ, I just want to go home. Am I doomed to be stuck in America until I die?”

Chekov must be in a great deal of pain if he had forgotten that she knew enough Russian to understand him.

“I won’t medically clear you to fly until your headache free for a week. For the last five days, you told me that you were headache free. Have you been lying about your headaches?”  Janet questioned even though she knew damn well what the answer was. If Chekov was stupid enough to deny having head splitting migraines, well, she’d not believe him. She was also quite proud that she didn’t remind him that if he had only behaved in the first forty eight hours or so after the accident, including his efforts to ‘prevent Kharitonov from falling after he tripped’. Oh, yes, and Janet had a bridge in Moscow she wished to sell you. Cheap! IF he had BEHAVED, He would probably not be experiencing such a rebound.  IV successfully placed in first attempt (You Go, Janet!), the medications were quickly on board.

“How long have you had this migraine?” she asked.

“Shortly after dinner last night. I didn’t really eat.”

Mentally, she charted his dietary intake (crediting the Russian delicacies Nadezhda Volkova had been sending in via her husband, subtracting what Chekov hadn’t eaten from the trays he had been brought), realized that Chekov had been surviving on sips of botvinia soup for the last…. **_four_** … days…  Damn it.

“You didn’t tell anyone? That’s earning you another cat scan, Colonel,” she snapped.

As she anticipated, the highly dosed Chekov didn’t protest. No, he appeared though he had downed an entire pitcherful of the SG4 Soviet Slammers plus a chaser of Volkov’s newest and highly potent drinks, The Czarist Cosmo and the Moscow Martini. His breathing slowed and she motioned for her staff to leave the room.

She then found what she was looking for on the cart, one of those ‘Why Didn’t I think of That?’ items that probably had the inventor reclining on a beach with a cold drink.  Yes, a toothette, or what looked like a sponge on a stick.  “Open your mouth,” she instructed.  “Don’t worry I’m not trying to choke you, but I don’t want you drinking anything until your stomach settles. This should get the taste out of your mouth.”

Slight head nod was his response, so she quickly swabbed his mouth.

Mission completed, she washed his face with a damp cloth to ‘freshen’ him up. He didn’t comment, so he was probably close to sleeping.  

She took another set of vitals, checked the flow of the IV and then adjusted the rate as she decided to piggy back more medications into the IV.  It took her maybe twenty minutes, and Chekov slept through it.  She took his left hand in her hands, just to double check that the IV was patent, that it hadn’t infiltrated and several other logical medical reasons.

It **_wasn’t_** to reassure herself about the irascible Russian.

No. Or should she say ‘Nyet!’

Not at all.

Though she was concerned about the severity of his headache.

“If you would actually get better long enough for a serious conversation, we would have one. I wasn’t angry that you mentioned your wife, Mishka. I was angry at myself because…I was drunk…  I moved too fast for you… a thousand other reasons that I’m embarrassed.   Because I ruined something before I even knew exactly what it was,” she confessed.  “I didn’t know what you wanted, as you weren’t very forthcoming.  Hell, you don’t even bother to tell me when you’re in the country or you’re leaving.”

Her confession voiced, she released his hand.

Well, she attempted to do so, but instead Chekov **_squeezed her hand_**.

“Zhannochka, you’re not angry with me?” he whispered. “That is … good. Very good to know.”

“Well not about **_that_** ,” she admitted.

He grimaced a smile.

“Wasn’t sure what was happening either,” was his soft confession. “It was … enjoyable… to have a friendly face here among all those that distrust me.”

“I think after this little heroic stunt of yours, people around here might be a little friendlier. I see O’Neill dropped off another fruit basket.”

“God help me, as there’s more Kiwi in the damn basket,” he whined. “Give it to Jonas Quinn. He never stops eating. One day his metabolism will stall. May I but live to see that auspicious day.”

Janet Fraiser made a very unladylike snort.

“That’s my little cranky Mishka bear. Now, get some sleep, Mishka.”  She leaned over and kissed him on his good cheek.

“That’s it?” he tiredly objected. “I nearly die, saving the lives of many, and you kiss me like an uncle?”

“I’ll be required to transfer your care to Brightman after this,” she informed him. Her flippant response confused him, but she decided she liked him being confused for once.

She gently pried his hand away from hers, much to Chekov’s disappointment. Then, deliberately, she walked over the door and locked it.  That completed, to give them a semblance of privacy (though she prayed no one was looking at the camera footage from the room), she returned back to Chekov. She sat on his bed, and then leaned over to carefully kiss him on the mouth.

It was slow, hesitant and sweetly awkward. But as kisses went, it was … **_good_** … with a very distinctive chance for toe curling awesomeness in the future.

Plus it **_was_** significantly easier for her to kiss him when he wasn’t looming over her. (The mere ten inches or so difference made it difficult for her to aim for his mouth.)

“There,” she stated. “Any lingering doubts that you’re my Uncle Vanya?”

“Some,” he softly assured her. His eyes were glassy which meant he was feeling no pain whatsoever. “Perhaps you could reassure me again that we’re not related.”

The crooked smile was back, and Janet admitted that she had rather missed it.

“You’re really flirtatious when you’re completely wasted on pain meds. Perhaps one day, we’ll have to try something different. Maybe, you know, try kissing sober. Maybe even go out on a date… maybe without Cassie?”

“You American women, so bold, so audacious.”

 

 

 

 

 


	13. 13

Maria Brightman, MD was a kind and compassionate soul.  However she had a secret. A terribly dark secret that she refused to admit to anyone though she was sure people had guessed, but were too polite to mention.  Colonel Chekov aka The Bear that Roared and Roared Some More scared the bejesus out of her. She was quite delighted when Janet Fraiser took on the Curmudgeonly Colonel on as her personal case. 

Therefore when her supervisor asked her to if she would consider taking over The Russian Bear’s care, Maria hesitated, but agreed only because Janet looked… **_hopeful_**.

“I’m asking you because treating him would violate my professional ethics,” Janet added.

Long pause as Maria struggled to digest the idea that any woman in their right mind would want to date CHEKOV. 

“Janet, are you **_really_** dating him?” Maria softly questioned. There had to be another reason. Please?

“We’re exploring the possibilities,” was all Janet would admit.

“ ** _Chekov_**?” Maria asked.

“Yes, Chekov,” Janet admitted.

Maria just shook her head.

“He’s really rather nice,” offered Janet.  Then after looking after Maria’s face, she added, “I’ll tell him to behave.” 

"Is that even possible?" Maria asked. She then covered her mouth with her hands, in a feeble attempt to prevent that thought from escaping.

"MARIA!"

* * *

 

She softly knocked on Chekov’s door and then entered.  First thing she noticed was that there was a new fruit basket with copious amounts of kiwis in his room. Secondly, he was behaving. Thirdly, his good behavior was only because he was asleep. Janet should have guessed that he’d only behave when he was unconscious, so she turned to leave.

“Hello, Doctor,” he rumbled.  “Leaving?”

“You pretending to be sleeping to avoid unwanted guests?” she asked as she turned to sit down next to his bed.

“Not I.”  He reached for his dark sunglasses and motioned for her to turn on the lights.  “Better keep the door open.”

“Please,” she protested.  “Do you really worry about my reputation that much?”

“I worry about mine. Proper Russian boy like me, in a room, alone, with one of you bold, audacious American women.  My virtue will not remain intact, I fear,” he mumbled. He groaned as he turned on his side so he could look at her. “My reputation left in shatters because of only possessing one working hand, I will be unable to properly perform. I have the legacy of all Russia to uphold.”

Janet couldn’t help herself. She snorted a very unladylike snort which caused Mishha's crooked smile to make an appearance.

“Good news, Brightman says that she’ll take over your case,” Janet explained. “You just need to be nice to her.”

“I’m always nice to her,” Chekov protested. “Really, among everyone here, I think I’m the nicest person.”

Really, it was best to let Chekov believe his drugged induced delusions.

“So, what do you want to do for our first date?” was his question.

“Cassie will **_not_** be joining us,” Janet stated.

“I believe you mentioned that previously,” was his sly retort. “Do you think Brightman will let me return home soon?”

“No,” Janet admitted.

“Even if I’m nice to her? I’ll give her the fruit basket,” Chekov asked, as he rolled onto his back. He winced and exhaled.  “I worry as Svietla is taking care of Snezhok. Probably letting her sleep on the bed. She’ll be a horror when I get home.”

“Svietla? Snezhok?” Janet asked.

“Svietla is, as you Americans say, my sister-in-law as Irishka was her sister? Snezhok is my dog.  Well, not really. She was Irishka’s dog, she merely tolerated me. Svietla and I have joint custody due our schedules.” Chekov snorted a laugh.

“You’ve never mentioned either of them,” prompted Janet.

“I feared I was talking too much about Irina, so I didn’t mention the other two ladies in my life.” Chekov smiled and then exhaled. His smile was 100% Colonel Chekov, not Mishka’s smile. All outward, lacking substance.

“Are you… really sure about having our first date?” Janet asked.   “You seem…”

Pensive and introspective… were the first two words that came to her mind.

“I think a nice, quiet, uneventful date for the two of us would be … beneficial where we could freely talk,” Chekov admitted. “I don’t want you to fear that I am not interested in pursuing whatever this is between us.”

“But recent event have …” Janet prompted then stopped, after Mishka said nothing for far too long.

“Rekindled my grief? Yes. Freshened remembrances of my wife? Yes. Balanced by how you intrigued me? Most assuredly. It won’t be the most romantic date you’ve ever been on, however, it will be sincere. And private.”

* * *

 

Two weeks later, after he had been medically cleared to fly home, by an obviously still terrified Brightman, Chekov knocked on Janet Fraiser’s door.  To his surprise (and disappointment) Cassandra opened the door.

“Hello, Misha. Come on in! I’ll go get Mom!” She bubbled as she ran down the hallway to her mother’s bedroom.  After a few seconds, Chekov heard Cassandra singsong, “Mom, your **_DATE_** is here…”

Janet was blushing when she finally entered the living room.  He stood when she entered and he presented her with a bouquet of seven pink roses.

“Sorry about Cassie, she’s being … **_silly_**. I hoped that… Oh… those are lovely… let me get a vase,” Janet stumbled when she saw the flowers. “You didn’t drive here, did you? You better not have as you are still aren’t cleared to drive.”

“I didn’t drive, as I’m still casted. Olga agreed to drop me off. She’s circumspect, unlike Dima.” He loved Dima like a brother but the chance for Dima to stick his nose into his love life would be too much of a temptation.  Only because he cared and he wished Chekov happy.

“So, seven pink roses, what does that mean?” Janet asked as she arranged them.

“Even numbered bouquets are for funerals, pink means… a new beginning,” he explained. “I’d like to introduce you to another fine Russian tradition, if I may?”

Janet nodded and he leaned down to her. Yes, she was wearing shoes that increased her height, but there was still a height difference. He kissed her.  Mishka focused completely on her, felt her body slowly melt towards his, which he took as a very positive sign.

“Sorry I’m late, is Cassie ready to go ** _? JANET?_** ” and then a sharp inhalation of breathe which completely destroyed the mood as someone entered the living room.

He pulled back, stood between Janet and the unexpected arrival so Janet was blocked from sight. With a voice trained by far too many encounters with O’Neill, he barked, “ ** _Major Carter!_**  ”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Mishka had given her seven beautiful pink roses, and then he softly requested, “I’d like to introduce you to another fine Russian tradition, if I may?”

Janet nodded and he leaned down to her. Yes, she was wearing shoes that increased her height, but there was still a height difference. He kissed her and her world stopped.  Mishka focused completely on her; she felt his body slowly melt towards hers, which Janet took as a very positive sign.  She also had some very **_delightful_** tingles developing.

“Sorry I’m late, is Cassie ready to go ** _? JANET?_** ” and then a sharp inhalation of breathe which completely destroyed the mood as someone entered the living room.

Chekov broke off their kiss, protectively stood between Janet and the unexpected arrival so Janet was blocked from sight. He then roared, “ ** _Major Carter!_** She is rather busy at the moment.”

Chekov continued to shield Janet from view, even while he glared at a shell shocked Samantha Carter.

“Going now!” Samantha Carter finally managed to yelp.

His glare continued radiating death rays until Samantha Carter and Cassie had fled the scene of the crime. He ignored Janet Fraiser who was energetically poking him in his ribs. His ribs that were still sore from the airbag inflating, he might add.

“You are **_horrible_** ,” Janet informed him.   Her denunciation failed to score on him as she was struggling not to laugh.

“I think I frightened her,” he proudly stated. He happily preened, as he was Male, Russian and Full of Testosterone.

“You **_think_**? Was it the pee dribbling down her leg that gave you that idea?” Janet retorted.

“I’m surprised that I did, because she blew up a sun. I think that’s far more fear-provoking than me.”

He gave her THAT smile that was reserved for the moments when he thought he was exceedingly funny and she couldn’t help herself. She **_laughed_** which caused Mishka to laugh.  God, when he laughed, he had dimples! Cute, adorable dimples that made her Russian Bear look more like a teddy bear.

“You **_blocked_** my view!” Janet protested. Her ire just made Mishka laugh even harder.

“She looked **_terrified_** ,” he assured her. “I shall savor that sight for as long as I live. However, she did interrupt us, so again, I would like to introduce you to a fine Russian custom?”

This time they were not interrupted until Janet needed to breathe.

“Much better,” he whispered. “Much, much better. Now, you ready for tonight?”

Janet nodded.

“As much as it stings my pride, you’ll need to drive,” he admitted with a dry quip.

* * *

 

Their date started off promising (as well, Movie theater! Hello! Darkness! Cuddling!) then soon after Miskha paid for their admittance and bought her Red Twizzlers, it went directly to hell. Do not pass go. Do not collect 200 American Dollars. No cuddling foreseen for Janet.

At the movie theater when they had just taken their seats, Chekov tapped her on her knee and pointed to an all too familiar, closely shorn scalp who was sitting approximately a dozen or so rows closer to the screen than they were.

It was GENERAL GEORGE S. HAMMOND.

HAMMOND who apparently shared the same interests in black and white comedies as Mishka. HAMMOND who was sitting with a very strikingly attractive female.  HAMMOND who she had assured that she had no interest in Colonel Chekov.

Janet leaned forward and stared.  Oh, sorry, surveyed the scene for needed Intel.

“She’s Hammond’s new girlfriend?” Janet blurted.

It was one of those all too rare moments in life, where everyone was perfectly quiet and still, so Janet’s voice carried in the theater. Upon hearing his name utilized, Hammond’s head swiveled in their direction, Chekov tried to crawl under his seat to mount a strategic retreat before he quickly realized that due to his recent maiming he could not. Therefore, being a child born from Siege of Leningrad Survivors, he decided to face Trouble head on.  He stood up, walked over to Hammond and greeted him and the new girlfriend.  The two men talked for a bit and then turned to face her. To Janet’s horror, Hammond pointed and motioned for her to come on down.

And yes, an expressionless Chekov crooked his finger also.

Damn it, there would be no cuddling in the dark now, would there?

* * *

 

Pleasantries were exchanged, and then Maggie, the General’s new girlfriend **_insisted_** that the four of them sit together. Hammond and Chekov wordlessly exchanged meaningful glances over their much shorter girlfriends’ heads.

**_I’ll never speak of this if you do the same._ **

Their silent accord affirmed, the two men struggled to hide their disappointment that their plans had gone southward.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Maggie bubbled. “George says you are a medical miracle maker, Dr. Fraiser.”

“Please, I **_insist_** that you call me Janet,” Janet said.

“And Colonel….” Maggie continued.

“Misha, please call me, **_Misha_**.” Chekov jovially assured her.

Janet felt the urge to kick Mishka’s instep as he was being very charming.

“George told me how you rescued all those people on I25 a few weeks ago,” Maggie continued. “He was so concerned when they called him at three AM to tell him you were missing, Misha.”

Janet couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow as General Hammond as she wondered how… **_intimately_** … Maggie knew about that particular phone call. At three AM.  Hammond responded by turning an interesting shade of fuchsia that started at the back of his neck, and slowly rose, layer by layer to the top of his head.

“I had help,” Chekov demurred.

“You’re being far too modest, George said that you were responsible for saving people’s lives,” protested Maggie, which caused Mishka to blush.  “So which one of you is the Charlie Chaplin fan?”

“I am. It helps me understand O’Neill,” offered a deadpan Chekov.

Hammond roared.

* * *

 

The four of them continued to converse, some quite energetically (the females), others less so (Hammond and Chekov). Janet found Maggie to be a great deal of fun, so she decided that she heartily approved of the match.  

Until the lights dimmed and the movies started, when Janet realized anew the issues facing her.

Mishka was sitting on her left, which meant his closest arm was immobile and casted.

Well, with Hammond sitting two seats down, she hadn’t anticipated Mishka putting his arm around her, but it really curtailed her attempt for clandestine affection. (Quick mental questions, did Russian men do hand holding? Did Russian Colonels who were grieving their late wife do hand holding?)

Well, he had made those snarky comments about bold and audacious American Woman.

She moved her left hand and **_deliberately_** put it on his right knee. His response was to continue staring intently at the screen.  His complete non-reaction was not the response for which she had been hoping. Instead, with a sick feeling in her stomach, she remembered what happened the night she had first kissed him. Janet had been too bold, too fast for him, and she realized anew that perhaps his snarky comments about bold, audacious women had been his roundabout way of hinting at the significant cultural differences they had to cross.

She closed her eyes, bowed her head and decided to move her hand back. However, Chekov grasped it with his good hand and squeezed it.  He brought her hand closer to him and he continued to hold it for a bit. Then with a gentleness that shouldn’t have surprised her but still did, he began to deliberately stroke her hand.

Janet turned towards him and saw that he was intently watching her. He leaned towards her and quietly whispered, “You Americas, so bold, so rash.  You run in where angels fear to tread. I am not like that, Zhannochka. However, I will struggle to be so… for you.”

 


	15. 15

Janet turned towards him and saw that he was intently watching her. He leaned towards her and quietly whispered, “You Americas, so bold, so rash.  You run in where angels fear to tread. I am not like that, Zhannochka. However, I will struggle to be so… for you.”

She leaned towards him and whispered, “Just be you, Mishka.”

“I fear you would quickly lose interest if I were just me,” he retorted.

What? How could she not be fascinated, what with Chekov’s sly humor, wicked grin and poetic soul, combined with a rather grumpy exterior? Such a grumbling mass of contradictions.

“You have to tell me when I’m being too… American… for you,” she requested.

“I’m just assuming at all times that I’m too Russian. Keeps my confusion level at a constant state of High Alert.” He nodded his head and she softly laughed.

“What’s the Russian philosophy on hand holding?” she asked.

“I’m not letting go, am I?” was his soft whisper.

And he tilted his head and smiled.

Then the bastard winked.

* * *

 

Date night at the movies considered of some serious hand holding.  Plus some careful caressing of her hand done under the cover of the darkness.  When the movie ended, Mishka chivalrously attempted to assist her with her jacket, but it was awkward with his one good hand.

“We were thinking about dinner and drinks at that Mediterranean place?” Maggie offered.  “You’ll join us, won’t you?”

While Janet was by far the shortest person in the group, she still saw that Chekov and Hammond exchange a wordless conversation about six inches above her head. Quirked eyebrows plus a shoulder shrug and the wordless deal was signed, sealed and delivered. Their nefarious plans for the evening had been derailed, might as well make the best of it.

**_We will never speak of this again._ **

“I was hoping to go there,” admitted Chekov.

* * *

 

“Hi guys!” Cassie bubbled. Jonas was half-heartedly watching Teal’c destroy Jack O’Neill computerized army on Jack’s game console but Jonas brightened, noticeably, when he realized that at last there were two people that would be willing to talk to him.

“Sorry, we’re late. We went shopping,” Sam explained before she bounced over and sat next to Jonas.  She exhaled softly and protested, “Don’t tell me...”

“He’s still trying to beat Teal’c,” Jonas and Cassie chimed together.

“It will never happen,” the Jaffa stated. “He lacks the discipline.”

“Did you eat?” Jonas asked Samantha. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry,” Samantha reminded him.

“He’s a growing boy,” Jack sniped as well, he was pouting slightly after Teal’c dismissive comments regarding his gaming skills. “What do you want to try?”

“New Mexican place in Colorado Springs. Supposedly pretty good?” Sam offered.

Pretty good meant pretty packed, wall to wall, and with a wait time of sixty minutes.  A poll occurred among the five of them and they decided to try the Mediterranean place across the street.  Good ratings, large portions according to Jonas.

They were about to be seated by the hostess, when Cassie gasped, “We need to go, Sam. Anywhere but here.”

“But I’m **_hungry_** ,” protested Jonas.

“Is that the General?” Jack asked. He stopped dead, and was then neatly plowed into by Jonas. “With a woman… that looks like Dr. Fraiser. Are they dating? Certainly appears to be a date.”

“Uncle George is not dating Mom, he’s dating MAGGIE,” protested Cassie even while Jonas mouthed, “Uncle George?” and Jack questioned, “The General’s girlfriend’s name is Maggie? How do you know this? And the fact that Hammond is **_dating_**? Why I am the last to know?”

Naturally, no one answered Jack as they were too busy watching **_Colonel Chekov_** speak to Janet. The Grim Bear smiled… **_smiled_** … when he spoke to Janet, much to the amazement of SG1.

“Then it appears that Colonel Chekov is interested in your mother,” Teal’c announced as he was direct and to the point. “I will speak to him regarding his interest. Among my people, when a seasoned warrior…”

“Seasoned? Like curly fries?” Jack snarked.

“Takes an interest in a young maiden not of his affiliation, the first Prime must speak to him, and ensure that the maiden’s respect and dignity is maintained. Jack O’Neill, you do not appear surprised by the Colonel’s interest. Have you spoken warrior to warrior regarding this?”

Jack bit his tongue and said nothing. It was a smart decision as he could barely prevent himself from laughing at the very idea of Janet Fraiser, **_Maiden_**.  And really, the less people that knew that he and Chekov had a war of words consisting of terms such ‘Bite me’ the better.

“I feared as much. You have not done so, therefore I must handle it.” Teal’c announced.

“Please don’t break Misha,” Cassie pleaded. “He’s returning home tomorrow. Mom really likes him in one piece.”

* * *

 

The restaurant was surprisingly slow, so they had their pick of seats.  Chekov inserted a request for a table, not a booth, using his arm as an excuse.

“I need to sit on the end,” he explained to Janet as he pulled out her chair.

“You southpaws,” teased Maggie as she commiserated with Janet. “Dining out with George has many a unique challenge.  He knows everybody, plus being a leftie. You’re probably have your own war stories. First time I ate at his daughter’s, he kept elbowing me.”

“Mags,” George pleaded.

Janet just shook her head. “I wouldn’t know. This is our first time eating at a restaurant.”

“We had dinner at the Chinese Dragon,” protested Chekov.

“There’s real silverware here. You used chopsticks the entire evening,” Janet reminded him. “Plus you sat on one side of the table surrounded by Cassie’s physics homework.”

Mishka just looked at her, and then rubbed his shoulder. “Please excuse me, I need to adjust my sling. I will be back.”

He nodded his head and then greeted the waiter. “I’ll be back. While we’re looking at menu, please bring us a bottle of Chateau Musar Blanc for the table?”

“Excellent choice, Sir!” The waiter bubbled.

* * *

 

He needed a moment to adjust his sling, plus do other things. He was Russian. He refrained from public service announcements because Russian valued discretion.  Really, running into Hammond on his first official date with Janet?

It could have been worse. O’Neill came to his weary mind. O’Neill and his fruit baskets, full of kiwis that would kill him.  

He went to the men’s room, did some private business, washed his hands, unslung himself and stretched his neck and bad arm as much as he could. He closed his eyes and then opened them to see… not what he anticipated in the mirror. No middle aged Soviet Colonels with a bum wing, but Daniel Jackson, clothed in white. The supposedly dead, allegedly Ascended ( ** _how_**?) linguist/archeologist pointed at his eyes and then pointed at Chekov. The meaning was quite clear.

**_I’m watching you._ **

If the Ascendant was taking an interest in current events, it seemed that there was nothing worth watching on Ascension TV.  No doubt their TV Channels were programmed by the Americans as they lacked anything resembling culture.  They were a young country, perhaps in a few hundred years, they might have a Gogol or a Tolstoy.

Or perhaps not. They were the land of the Three Stooges after all.

However Mikhail Kirillovich Chekov was a child of two survivors of the Siege of Leningrad.  He would not be intimidated by anyone, especially an apparition in the mirror.

“Don’t give me that look, I, and I, **_alone_** , helped you when your friend was in trouble. Remember that,” he barked.

Daniel continued glaring, so Chekov glared back and escalate their match by throwing in a pair of threatening eyebrows. There was a brief momentary distraction so when he returned to the mirror, it was just he and he alone in the mirror.

Aha! Apparently he could still scare the Ascended Jackson with only a furled brow.

Good God, Chekov had to admit that he looked like hell. Then again, being in America for a month was not and could never be confused with a vacation. Especially with O’Neill and his kiwis.

He washed his hands again, reslung his arm and turned around to face…

Teal’c.

“Colonel Chekov,” the Jaffa intoned.

Chekov nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“Jack O’Neill should be speaking to you. However, I have decided he has delayed long enough. Colonel, among my people…”

Oh good God above, not the JAFFA.  Janet Fraiser had apparently fooled all the men at the Base into thinking she was a weak damsel in need of protection. HA! Showed him how well they knew the little spitfire.

Not at all!

“When a warrior of another allegiance takes an interest in a Healer such as Dr. Fraiser, a warrior of the Healer’s tribe will speak to him.”

Chekov exhaled. Loudly.

“It is **_proper_** that you are wooing her under the auspices of General Hammond.  When first I courted Drey'auc of the Cord'ai Plains, Master Bra’tac was present. It is… good… that you show her deference. I approve of your relationship.”

Chekov blinked once, twice and then three times in rapid succession.

Teal’c then stepped closer to Chekov and announced in a prophetic tone, “Dishonor her and I will kill you. Slowly, **_painfully_**.”

Really, Chekov had enough of the goddamn Americans and their buddies, so he stepped toe to toe to Teal’c. Chekov looked up at the alien who could easily slaughter him and serve for toast, and he bluffed. “Do you really believe that if I dishonor her that she will leave enough of me so you can have a piece? I rather doubt it.”

Teal’c reflected on Chekov and his protestations and stepped back one step in respect, it seemed. He nodded his head once, and stated, “You are quite correct. She is a warrior.”

“Thank God, someone here acknowledges that,” Chekov protested. “And though she be but little, she is **_fierce_**.”

 


	16. 16

Chekov returned to the table, and found that their foursome had grown exponentially.  Four had become nine, SG1 with Cassie, then compounded with the addition of four healthy members of SG4, the Major who had been injured in the orgy… oh…the Native Welcoming Ceremony, Lt. Alekseyeva and Volkov’s wife, Nadezhda.

And the incorporeal Daniel Jackson, who was apparently bored and had nothing better to do in the Golden land of Ascensiona, made it 16. Fortunately Jackson required not a chair as it was getting rather crowded.

There was really only one thing a tried and true Russian male should do to escape the din and clang.  Since walking out wasn’t an option, he took the second choice.

Endure.

He kept himself focused and he ignored O’Neill’s witticisms with a fake, confused demeanor. It was a trick he had learned from O’Neill, how to ‘play stupid’.  It would cause O’Neill’s blood pressure to spike and he’d enjoy the show.

-=-=

Janet was kind enough to drive him back to the base, though he noticed that they were taking a roundabout way.   He said not a word, as he was content to just be with Janet.  ALONE. Though he did find himself checking the various car mirrors to see if they had a tagalong sprite by the name of Daniel Jackson.

“I wasn’t sure if you have ever been here,” she finally said when they pulled into the parking lot of the Garden of the Gods.

“Never had time,” he admitted.

“Next time you’re here, make time,” she suggested.  “It’s too late to actually walk and enjoy the sites.”

They sat in companionable silence for a bit when Janet spoke once more, “Mishka, any idea when you’ll be back?”

“No,” he admitted. With a wry grin, he added, “They may not let me come back after Kharitonov. However, that would mean you’d have to come to Russia and visit. You could bring Cassandra, if they’d let her out of Colorado, what with her unique background.”

“Russia?” Janet murmured.

“Come see my homeland,” he offered.  “After all, I travel thousands of miles to see you. One would think that as an assertive American woman you could feel no qualms about visiting me.”

Quirk of a smile which meant he was feeling playful, though they both knew that it wasn’t that easy. Not with the visas required, the fact that she was AMERICAN MILITARY and he was Russian Air Force. However, it was still fun to pretend.

“And your job has nothing to do with it,” offered a very droll Janet.

“You make the flight here bearable,” he admitted.  “Sometimes, the flight is… very long.”

They started kissing. Slowly at first and then with increasing passion.  Chekov pulled away first and exhaled.

“We need to stop, as I am one-handed. If my elbow wasn’t casted, if I wasn’t leaving tomorrow, I would like to take you to a nice hotel,” he confessed.  “Without fear of interruption.”

Did he just make a barely heard comment about covering any mirrors?  His quip seemingly amused him as he quirked his lopsided grin. Then he grew serious.

“I don’t want to take this step and then leave immediately for home, as though our… new understanding… was something of which to be ashamed.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” Janet teased.

“I am,” he stated with such seriousness that it took a moment for her to realize that he was being very droll.

 “You are.”

They sat in silence for a while and Chekov exhaled.  “I need to get back to the base. Tomorrow is almost today and I have an early flight out.”

-=-

Janet returned to work the next day and found that, once again, Chekov had broken into her office. This time instead of a stash of chocolate, he had left a brief note thanking her for her excellent care.

_Zhanna,_

_I’ve enjoyed our time together. Perhaps we could do it again, however without the multiple concussions, no?_

_Mishka_

She laughed.

-=-=

Naturally, when they had decided to take the next step in their relationship, the very universe conspired to keep them apart.  Not a single interstellar incident occurred, O’Neill didn’t piss off an alien, the Goa’ulds stayed on their side of the universe.   There was the occasional email from him. All very proper and respectful, inquiring after Cassie and her studies combined with mentions of his dog and his continuing struggles with mastering Japanese.

Which he was doing for fun.

FUN.

So she tried to be patient and an adult, though she had to admit that she did perhaps spend a bit too much on a certain matching bra and panty outfit (because really, it was perfectly respectful with some strategically placed lace.)  For the first time, she figured a little conservative might be best which meant no whips, no chains, no restraints.

That thought had her laughing at the most importune times one day and had earned her a narrowing of Hammond’s eyes in her direction.  Which was generally reserved for when he feared O’Neill was about to cause an intergalactic issue.  So Janet bit her lip and struggled to remain composed for the rest of the day.

And so the set remained in her drawer, pristine, UNWORN… for the longest time.

Until one day she was running late and she realized that her only clean bra was that one. In her defense, she had gotten home late from work the night before and had crawled into bed as it had BEEN ONE OF THOSE DAYS.

“Well, Mishka, I’ll just have to buy something new,” she decided.

-=-

Janet warmly greeted Samantha in the commissary.  Samantha tilted her head and motioned towards a quiet corner.

“What?” Janet asked when they were sitting in their private corner.

“Heard a rumor that a certain Russian Colonel will be arriving on base shortly, so I can invite Cassie to stay with me for the weekend?” Samantha offered.

“I’d like that,” Janet admitted. “And no… get that look out of your eyes. I’m not sure if I’m getting lucky. If I do, I certainly won’t be sharing the details.”

“You’re no fun,” Sam mock pouted.

“I know.”

Janet finished her coffee and returned back to her office.  There were patients to see. (Really, one would hope that SG-4 would stop accepting the native cuisine as it always ended up ugly and painful for them) Reports were required to be reviewed, revised and signed.

So it was late afternoon when she heard a knock on her door.  She looked up from her desk and smiled once she realized who it was.

“Hi.” Really what a stupid thing to say but she felt… nervous… and tingly… in a very good way.

“Hello, may I sit?” Chekov asked. “Please accept my apologies, I wasn’t aware I was coming here until I was redirected here. I would have let you know.”

“I understand,” was her soft answer.

He sat and then he leaned towards her. Softly, hesitantly, he asked, “I’d like to see you tonight. May I?”

“I’d like that,” Janet agreed. “How’s your right arm?”

“Recovered completely,” he assured her.

“I’m glad,” she said and then she quirked a brief smile at him.  “My house? I’ll make dinner and we can watch a movie? Cassie won’t be home, so maybe…”

 He dimpled.  

“So how do we do this now?” he asked. “I’m in your country, you need to tell me how we proceed from here.”

“I will,” she assured him. “If you promise to tell me when I’m….”

“Being too bold and audacious? I spoke to Svietla as she is familiar with you Americans.  She shook her finger at me, and told me, Appetit prikhodit vo vremya yedy. That the appetite comes with eating, and … it’s time for me to live again. She reminded me that I have conveniently forgotten how Irishka used to fluster me constantly during our first few years together.  She enjoyed teasing me by being bold and audacious. Svietla told me that I have gotten old.”

He shook his head in mock hurt.

“One of these days, I hope I can meet Svietla,” Janet admitted with a big smile. “She sounds like a real firecracker.”

“I rather doubt, the only time she met up with you Americas it was a big watery mess. Svietla was saddened to hear about Doctor Jackson as she thought highly of him,” Chekov admitted.

“Wait… Svietla…. Your sister in law is **_Svetlana Markova_**?”

Chekov nodded his head. “It is, as you Americas say, a very small universe.”

-=-

He arrived at her house, and willed his nerves to stop misbehaving. To his surprise, he didn’t even have to knock at her door, as she opened it before he could even raise his hand.

“Hi,” he said. He felt awkward and uncertain, like a school boy before term exams.

“Hi,” she said. They just stood there and then Janet giggled. “Come in, Mishka.”

“I’m sorry. I am… uncertain,” he explained as he stepped into her house.

“We don’t have …” she began.

“Wrong word. Nervous. It has been… some time for me… and…” he waved his hand to voice what he couldn’t say.

“I understand, Mishka.  Do you want...” she paused.

The look he gave her answered that question.  She looked up at him, and then she stood on her toes before they had a long, slow kiss that melted her insides. When she could breathe again, Janet whispered “It’s ok, Mishka. My bear, my Russian bear.  It’s been some time for me, so… we’ll figure it out together.”

She then held out her hand and he reached for it.  They stood there, holding hands for a bit and then Janet gently led him to her bedroom.

 

-=-=-  The End -=-=-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
